A Song of Vengeance
by IWantColouredRain
Summary: 15 years ago, the Targaryens were forced into exile by the rebel alliance of the West-Stormlands-Vale-Riverlands..and Dorne. To ensure the loyalty of the hostile North, Aly Stark was wed to King Robert's closest friend, Oberyn Martell. Now, after 15 years, the wolves and dragons' pieces are in place, and they will have revenge. (role reversal) Martell centric Hiatus
1. Background Info

**The North:**

*The North is a lot more powerful in this story than in canon. The Free Folk (different to the wildlings) and the Three Sisters are both vassals to the Stark of Winterfell.

*The Magnar of the Winterlands is the equivalent to a Prince and has more power than anybody save the King. They are only required to bow to the King, not kneel. There was almost no change in the lives of the Winterlanders after joining the Seven Kingdoms so they mostly follow First Men customs.

*The Winterlands are the only place that the Targaryens never managed (even temporarily) to defeat, not Dorne.

*The population is also a lot bigger now, and they have a standing army. Due to the North having expanded its territory beyond the Wall, they retain their magic and are aware of the wight/White Walker threat. The WWs are not a part of this story though.

*The North expects its women to be capable of self-defence, and they/bastards can inherit. Bastards inherit behind trueborns, but gender doesn't matter.

*The First Men still have magic (such as warging and green dreams, not controlling the earth or anything like that), and follow the traditions of their ancestors, sacrificing criminals to the weirwoods, etc. The Old Gods are more prominent in this world.

*'Burner' a derogatory term for the Andals used by the First Men.

*Green Men are common and highly revered by the First Men. Greenseers are also more common, and act similar to Septons or Septas, in that they preach the tenets of the Old Faith. All followers of the Old Faith put great stock in the words of the greenseers, and revere them highly. It's a great honour to be offered the chance to become one of them. Howland Reed is the current High Greenseer.

*Elders are the people responsible for teaching the children of the North about their history, traditions, etc. They can be men or women. There is one in every village and keep. Old Nan is Winterfell's Elder.

*The population is much larger here, so the Watch is stronger. All castles are manned. Any criminals sent north by the Southrons often 'disappear' on rangings very quickly, depending on their crimes.

*The Starks (save their bastards who are lords/ladies) are all addressed as Magnar(a) the Old Tongue equivalent to Prince(ss).

*In 1557 BC, King Artos XVII 'the Scholar Wolf' Stark set up the University of Winterfell. He believed the education was vital for everyone, no matter their rank or gender, and made a law that every child attend a school from the age of five to ten (one for boys and a separate one for girls) where they are taught the basics of reading and writing as well as history and Northern traditions and stories by Elders, and everything else by Scholars, the Winterlands' equivalent to a Maester. After finishing at the school, the students can apply to go to the University and study there as an Apprentice Scholar. If they cannot afford the fee, they can use the Courts to appeal to the Starks to fund their apprenticeship. They have to work off the loan and keep their work to a certain standard, however. If they cannot do so, they will no longer be funded, and still have to pay off their debts. The Maesters and their Citadel are sometimes accused of stealing the idea for their organization from the Scholars of the University.

*Houses in the North bear the title of 'Ancient' (for any older than 400 years) and/or 'Honourable' (awarded and stripped by the Courts depending on the House's deeds.

* * *

**The Army has several different sections:**

**The Warg Warriors:** this is the second most elite part of the Army. There are a thousand of them, and their base is on the coast of Skagos. They are all wargs, taken from their families at age five and raised to be utterly loyal to the Starks. Each is devoted to their duty. It's a mixed gender unit, the only one in the North. Every child in the Winterlands is tested on their fifth nameday, regardless of gender or birth and it's considered the greatest honour one can receive to be chosen for the unit. While marriage and families aren't forbidden to the members of the Warriors, they are not common, as the Warriors consider it a hinderance to their duty.

**The Ice Guard:** this is the law enforcement of the Winterlands. They ensure that no crime is committed and hunt down any outlaws or brigands. If they discover a criminal, they try them (as required by King Rickard XVI, who made a law ordering that all people be tried and found guilty before being executed.) and then, should the criminal be sentenced to death, they are sacrificed to the weirwoods according to First Men law. The Ice Guard also oversees any criminals sentenced to hard labour, ensuring they don't escape. Many landless second or third, so on, sons join this unit to be able to support their families.

**The Twilight Troopers: **the Twilight Troopers are _the_ most elite part of the Army, selected from among the Warg Warriors' best recruits. They are a force dedicated to both reinforcing the Night's Watch, defending the settlements beyond the Wall and fighting the wights. All are armed with dragonglass weapons, all are able to warg into at least three animals and are hardened warriors. They are nearly undefeatable. Only White Walkers can defeat them, and they always put up a fierce fight.

**The Army of the North: **this is the main part of the Northern Army. In 595 BC, King Artos Stark XIX decided to figure out a way to increase the population of the Winter Lands, seeing as there was so much land unused. He then made a law stating that any family with more than five children would be eligible for a decrease in the amount of taxes they had to pay, the amount lessening a bit more for each child, though there remained a minimum. This caused a huge baby boom. The consequences of this was the need to find a way to employ everyone. Artos' son, Edric VII, came up with the idea of having a standing army. They would be trained and kept ready to defend against any attacks, unlike the disorganized and untrained smallfolk levies of the other kingdoms. People flocked to the army, and their constant training has made them the greatest army in Westeros. It can field around 130,000 men altogether, slightly more than the Reach.

**The Navy of the North:** Although Brandon the Burner foolishly destroyed the entire Northern fleet in grief after his father's disappearance at sea, his son was not so short-sighted. Knowing that their lands would be vulnerable without a sea force, King Rickon restored the fleet, naming his second son Benjen as its' Admiral. Benjen took the name of 'Spraystark' and married Asha Karstark, the daughter of some of House Stark's most loyal vassals, becoming the founder of House Spraystark, which has always been involved in the Navy, along with House Starstark, founded by Elayne Stark after her father King Jonos legitimised her son Rickon Snow, borne to a pirate. House Skystark is also frequently involved in it.

**The Courts: **these are inspired by the Cortes of Aragon during the Medieval Age. They are summoned every quarter year, and are filled with representatives of each major village in the Winterlands, as well as the nobles. It gives a chance for any grievances to be aired before the Magnar of the North, and the Magnar is bound by oath to listen and heed it. If a noble is abusing his smallfolk, for example, then if proof is presented before the Courts, the Magnar _must_ punish them. The Courts also have to be summoned for the creation of any new houses.

* * *

**List of OC Northern Houses:**

**Ancient and Honourable House of Skystark: **Lord: Brandon Skystark, High Admiral of the Northron Navy, age 76

Lady: Alyssa Scarstark, age 70

Heir: Rickard Skystark, age 53

Others: Melara Skystark, age 54, Arrana Skystark, age 34, Brandon Skystark, age 13

**Sigil-a sky-blue background with a grey direwolf with sun-shaped eyes on it**

**Words-We Are As Endurable As Ice**

**Keep-Aysel Hold**

**Honourable House of Scarstark: **Lord: Edric Scarstark, age 35

Lady: Bethany Blackwolf, age 27

Heir: Serena Scarstark, age 10

Others: Scholar Cregard Scarstark, age 58 (in exile)

**Sigil-a black wolf's head with a red scar**

**Words-We Shall End in Ice**

**Keep-Starford Castle**

**Ancient House of Blackwolf:**

Lord: Artos Blackwolf, age 21

Lady: Margaret Manderly, age 19

Heir: Willem Blackwolf, age 2

Others: Aregelle Blackwolf, age 13 moons

**Sigil-a rearing black direwolf on a grey field**

**Words-First to Attack, And Never to Retreat**

**Keep-Stonehill Hold**

**Honourable House of Starstark (matrilineal): **Lady: Sybelle Starstark, Admiral of the North's Western Fleet, age 34

Lord Consort: Artos Icewolf age 39

Heir: Lynara Starstark, age 13

Others: Rodrik Starstark, age 15, Jorelle Starstark, age 10

**Sigil-a white direwolf with stars on a midnight blue background**

**Words-** _**We follow the Diamonds of the Sky.**_

**Specializes in seafaring, along with the Seastarks, with whom they have a rivalry that alternates between being friendly and vicious. Their keep, Wolf's Way, is a Harbour city on the coast of the Stony Shore.**

**Honourable House of Seastark:**

Lord: Brandon Seastark, Admiral of the North's Eastern fleet. Age 57

Lady: Meriah Seastark née Royce. Age 52 (had 10 miscarriages/stillbirths out of 13 pregnancies, very fragile woman)

Heir: Rodrik Seastark. Age 32

Others: Yohn Seastark of the Ice Guard, age 27. Maege Seastark, age 18

**Sigil-a ship with a wolf's head on the prow, on a sea-coloured background.**

**Words-We Rule the Waves.**

**Specializes in Sailing. Has a rivalry with House Starstark. Their keep, Sailor's Cove, is a Harbour city near Widow's Watch.**

**The Ancient and Honourable House of Whitewolf:**

Lord: Torrhen Whitewolf, age 39

Lady: Lysana Whitewolf née Seastark, age 30

Heir: Markus Whitewolf, age 17

Other: Serena Whitewolf, age 15

**Sigil- a white wolf on a black background with gold edging.**

**Words- We Remember**

**Descended from Brandon Snow, brother to Torrhen Stark. They were entrusted with the method of creating glasshouses by the Last King of Winter, and as such are the richest House (save for the Starks themselves) in the North. Their keep, 'The White Wolf's Den' is midway through Moat Cailin and White Harbour.**

**The Ancient and Honourable House of Icewolf (matrilineal): **

Lord: Alyssa Icewolf, age 68

Heiress: her granddaughter, Erena Icewolf, age 14

**Sigil-A sword of ice gripped in the teeth of a grey wolf with a black background**

**Words-First to Charge, Last to Retreat**

**Their keep is called 'The Sword's Sheath' and based on the Bay of Ice**

**The Ancient House of Greystark:**

Lord: Rodrik Greystark, age 49

Lady: His wife and second cousin, Emelia Greystark, age 33

Heir: Eddard Greystark, age 16

**Sigil-a white direwolf on a dark grey background (reversed Stark colours)**

**Words-We Repent (formerly, Ever Loyal)**

**The Greystarks once rose in rebellion during the era of the Kings of Winter. They were put down brutally, with only the baby heir spared. He was raised by the Mormonts, the Starks' most loyal bannermen, who frequently reminded him of how gracious the Starks had been not to kill him too. Ever since, the Greystarks have raised their children to be utterly fanatical about protecting the Starks. They have been offered to have their title of 'the Honourable House of Greystark' restored by the Courts, who believe they have long redeemed their ancestors' actions, but they refuse. They are the first to attack in battle, and often have to be ordered to fall back by the Starks. Their keep used to be Wolf's Den (now White Harbour) but it was stripped after their rebellion. Their current keep is Beverstone Hold, between the Stony Shore and Sea Dragon's point.**

**The Honourable House of Frostfang (matrilineal):**

**Lady:** Alysanne Frostfang, age 48

**Lord Consort:**Brandon Amber, age 50

**Heiress:** Raya Frostfang, age 29

**Others:**Raya's husband, Benjen Harclay age 29, their twin daughters Melessa and Maege age 6

**Sigil-a white fang on a blue background.**

**Words-Strong As the Winter Winds**

**Keep-Raven's Roost, near to Moat Cailin**

**The Honourable and Most Ancient House of Amber:**

**Lord:** Bennard Amber, age 78

**Lady:** None (formerly Lysana Umber, deceased)

**Heir:** Ellard Amber, age 55

**Others:** Lyanne Amber of House Greystark age 32, Bennard Amber age 17, Sybelle Amber 16, Arsa Amber age 16, Rickon Amber age 12

**Sigil-A piece of amber on a dark yellow background**

**Words-We Shine in the Dark**

**Keep-Elden Fort, beside the Long River**

**The Most Honourable and Most Ancient House of Greenwood (matrilineal, crannog, sworn to the Reeds):**

**Lady:** Berena Greenwood, age 39

**Lord Consort:** Edrick Greenwood of House Peat, age 40

**Heiress:** Arya Greenwood, age 19

**Others:** Meera Greenwood, age 16, Jonos Greenwood, age 14, Jory Greenwood, age 12

**Sigil-A green branch spouting upwards on a black banner**

**Words-We Stand Straight and Steady as a Tree**

**Keep-Marshwood Keep**

**The Most Ancient House of Frost:**

**Lord:** Joran Frost, age 59

**Lady: **Jorelle Frost of House Greystark, age 56

**Heir: **Eddard Frost, age 21

**Others:** Asha Frost of House Starkstark, age 22, Lyanna Frost, age 15, Brandon Frost, age 13

**Sigil-A white snowflake on a royal-blue background**

**Words-Frost in Our Veins, Ice in Our Hearts**

**Keep-The Wolf's Den, outskirts of White Harbour**

**The Most Honourable and Ancient House of Ashwood:**

**Lord: **Arthur Ashwood, age 37

**Lady:** Erena Ashwood of House Cerwyn, age 34

**Heir: **Domeric Ashwood, age 17

**Others:** Alysanne Ashwood, age 13, Aregelle Ashwood, age 11, Steffon Ashwood, age 6

**Sigil-an ash tree on a white background**

**Words-Unyielding as Ash**

**Keep-Direwood Fort, based in the Bay of Ice**

**The Honourable and Ancient House of Snowstark (matrilineal):**

**Lady: **Lysa Snowstark, age 44

**Lord Consort:** Ellard Blackwood, age 47

**Heiress:** Lyanne Snowstark, age 18,

**Others:** Lorra Snowstark, age 16, Eddard Snowstark, age 14, Cregan Snowstark, age 12, Arielle Snowstark, age 10

**Sigil-a swirl of white snowflakes on a dark blue background.**

**Words-Beware The Frozen Heart**

**Keep-Brawnlyn Fort, circa Deepwood Motte**

*****These are the main ones who might be mentioned, I will add to it as needed.

*House Blackwood was never exiled in this, and of the canon extinct houses, only the Towers, Fisher of the Stoney Shore and Flints of Breakstone Hill are gone. The Boltons are extinct.

* * *

In this, the Martells/Dorne and the North/Starks have swapped. Dorne was made to bend the knee by the Conqueror, whilst the Winterlands held them off and killed Rhaenys. They were brought into the kingdom by Daeron marrying Magnara Lyanna Stark (daughter of Cregan) and Cregan's (by then) only living son Brandon marrying Daenerys.

Then Aegon V's sister Daella married Edwyle Stark, the grandfather of Brandon, Ned, Lyanna, Aly (Lyanna's OC twin) and Benjen, and as a result Lyanna was betrothed to Rhaegar at a young age. Family tree (WITH SPOILER) below.

The White Walkers are not a threat in this story, they don't fit into the plotline. Rhaegar wasn't obsessed with the prophecy, but the stress of everything resulted in him falling for Elia Martell, the betrothed of his cousin Robert Baratheon. They ran away together and kickstarted the Rebellion.

In this, Dorne was made to conform to a lot of the other kingdoms' ways, so it's male-preference primogeniture in this for them, whilst the North has equal-gender inheritance, and also allows bastards to inherit but with preference for trueborns.

Prince Lewyn Martell was heir of Dorne in this, so he never became a Kingsguard. However, his eldest nephew inherited Dorne after his death due to him not siring any children with his wife, and Oberyn inherited after Doran, Arianne and Mellario all died.

The Sand Snakes (of which there are only 3) are different in this. Oberyn was raised in a different, stricter culture, and so he expects his daughters to be ladies. However, his Northron wife convinced him that teaching them to be empty airheads was a foolish thing to do, so they aren't idiots incapable of doing anything without a man's instruction, or have heads full of songs.

* * *

**HOUSE STARK OF THE WINTERLANDS:**

**{Rickard Stark}:**

**{Lyarra Stark}:**

**-{Brandon Stark}: **Born 262, Died 283, age 21

**{Barbrey Ryswell}: **Born 265, Died 283, age 18

***{Melara Snow}: **Born 279, Died 283, age 4

**-Eddard Stark: **Born 263, age 35

**Ashara Stark née Dayne: **Born 264, age 34

***Artos Stark: **Born 283, age 15

***Lynara Stark: **Born 286, age 12

***Arya Stark: **Born 289, age 9

***Brandon 'Bran' Stark: **Born 290, age 7 (nearly 8)

***Willem Stark: **Born 295, age 3

***Raya Stark: **Born 297, age 1

**-Alysanne Martell née Stark: **Born 267, age 31

**Oberyn Martell: **Born 261, age 31

***Rickard Martell: **Born 284, age 14

***Aliandra Martell:** Born 286, age 12

***Mariah Martell: **Born 288, age 10

***Dorren Martell: **Born 288, age 10

***Lewyn Martell:** Born 290, age 8

***Arron Martell: **Born 292, age 6

***Loreza Martell: **Born 294, age 4

**-{Lyanna Targaryen née Stark}: **Born 267, Died 283, age 16

**Rhaegar Targaryen: **Born 259, Died 283, age 24

***Aegon Targaryen: **Born 282, age 14

***Daenerys Targaryen: **Born 282, age 14,

**-{Benjen Stark}: **Born 270, Died 283, age 13

**HOUSE MARTELL OF DORNE:**

**{Lord Lewyn Martell}:**

**{Mariya Martell née Celtigar}:**

***No issue**

**{Lady Loreza Algood née Martell}:**

**{Lord Theodan Algood}:**

**-{Doran Martell}: **Born 248, Died 282, age 34

**{Mellario of Norvos}: **Born 258, Died 282, age 24

***{Arianne Martell}: **Born 279, Died 282, age 6

**-{Elia Targaryen née Martell}: **Born 260, Died 283, age 22

**{Rhaegar Targaryen}:** Born 259, Died 283, age 24

***Rhaenys Targaryen a.k.a: Nymeria 'Meria' Sand: **Born 283, age 14 (almost 15)

**-Oberyn Martell: **Born 261, age 37

***Obara Sand: **Born 279, age 19

***Sarella Sand: **Born 282, age 15

***Nymeria 'Meria' Sand a.k.a: Rhaenys Targareyn: **Born 283, age 14 (almost 15)

**Alysanne Martell née Stark: **Born 266, age 32

***Rickard Martell: **Born 284, age 14

***Aliandra Martell:** Born 286, age 12

***Mariah Martell: **Born 288, age 10

***Dorren Martell: **Born 288, age 10

***Lewyn Martell:** Born 290, age 8

***Arron Martell: **Born 292, age 6

***Loreza Martell: **Born 294, age 4

**(cousin)**

**-Ser Manfrey Martell:**

**Elissa Martell née Chelsted:**

***Deria Martell: **Born 282, age 16

***Nymor Martell: **Born 287, age 11

***Mara Martell: **Born 290, age 8

**HOUSE TARGARYEN OF THE CROWNLANDS (IN EXILE):**

**{Aerys II Targaryen}:**

**Rhaella Targaryen:**

**-{Rhaegar Targaryen}: **Born 259, Died 283, age 24

**{Lyanna Targaryen née Stark}:**

***Aegon Targaryen: **Born 282, age 14

***Daenerys Targaryen: **Born 282, age 14

**{Elia Targaryen née Martell}:**

***Rhaenys Targaryen:**

**-{Shaena Targaryen}:**

**-{Daeron Targaryen}:**

**-{Unnamed Stillborn babe}:**

**-{Aegon Targaryen}:**

**-{Jaehaerys Targaryen}:**

**-Viserys Targaryen: **Born 276, age 22

**Bonifer Hasty:**

**-Joy Hasty: **Born 285, age 13

**-Jocelyn Hasty:** Born 283, age 10

**HOUSE BARATHEON OF THE CROWNLANDS/STORMLANDS:**

**{Steffon Baratheon}:**

**{Cassana Baratheon née Estermont}:**

**-King Robert Baratheon:** Born 262, age 36

***Mya Stone: **Born 280, age 18

***Bella (unacknowledged): **Born 283, age 15

***Gendry (unacknowledged): **Born 284, age 14

***Edric Storm: **Born 287, age 11

***Barra (unacknowledged): **Born 297

***Eleven others (unacknowledged)**

**Queen Cersei Baratheon née Lannister: **Born 266, age 32

***Joffrey Baratheon: **Born 286, age 12

***Myrcella Baratheon: **Born 290, age 8

***Tommen Baratheon:** Born 291, age 7

**-Stannis Baratheon:** Born 264, age 34

**Catelyn Tully: **Born 265 AC, age 33

***Steffon Baratheon: **Born 284, age 14

***Orryn Baratheon: **Born 286, age 12

***Cassana Baratheon: **Born 288, age 10

***Shireen Baratheon: **Born 289, age 9

***Lyonel Baratheon: **Born 293, age 5

***Minisa Baratheon:** Born 296, age 2

**-Renly Baratheon: **Born 277, age 21

**HOUSE LANNISTER OF THE WESTERLANDS:**

**Tywin Lannister:**

**{Joanna Lannister}:**

**-Cersei Baratheon née Lannister: **Born 266, age 32

**King Robert Baratheon:** Born 262, age 36

***Joffrey Baratheon: **Born 286, age 12

***Myrcella Baratheon: **Born 290, age 8

***Tommen Baratheon:** Born 291, age 7

**-Jaime Lannister:** Born 266, age 32

**-Tyrion Lannister: **Born 273, age 25

**HOUSE ARRYN OF THE VALE:**

**{Jasper Arryn}**

**{Aelinor Redfort}**

**-{Jon Arryn}:**

**{Jeyne Arryn née Royce}**

***Stillborn daughter**

**{Rowena Arryn}**

**-{Ronnal Arryn}:**

**{Jocelyn Belmore}:**

***Elbert Arryn: **Born 258, age 40

**Lysa Tully: **Born 268, age 30

***Robar "Sweetrobin" Arryn: **Born 292, age 6

**-{Alys Waynwood née Arryn}:**

**Elys Waynwood:**

***Nine children:**

**[Eldest daughter: Alyssa Waynwood wed Denys Arryn. their only child/son, Artys, is heir to the Vale after Sweetrobin]**

**HOUSE TULLY OF THE RIVERLANDS:**

**Hoster Tully: **Born 238, age 60

**{Minisa Whent}: **Born 250, Died 278, age 28

**-Catelyn Tully:** Born 265 AC, age 33

**Stannis Baratheon:** Born 264, age 34

***Steffon Baratheon: **Born 284, age 14

***Orryn Baratheon: **Born 286, age 12

***Cassana Baratheon: **Born 288, age 10

***Shireen Baratheon: **Born 289, age 9

***Lyonel Baratheon: **Born 293, age 5

***Minisa Baratheon:** Born 296, age 2

**-Lysa Tully:** Born 268, age 30

**Elbert Arryn:** Born 258, age 40

***Robar "Sweetrobin" Arryn: **Born 292, age 6

**-Edmure Tully: **Born 274, age 24

**Brynden "The Blackfish" Tully:** Born 245, age 53

**HOUSE TYRELL OF THE REACHLANDS:**

**{Luthor Tyrell}:**

**Olenna Tyrell née Redwyne:** Born 228, age 70

**-Mace Tyrell: **Born 256, age 42

**Alerie Hightower: **Born 264, age 34

***Willas Tyrell: **Born 276, age 22

***Garlan Tyrell: **Born 277, age 21

**Leonette Fossoway: **Born 280, age 18

***Loras Tyrell:** Born 282, age 16

***Margaery Tyrell: **Born 283, age 15

**\- Mina Tyrell: **Born 258, age 40

**Paxter Redwyne:** Born 258, age 40

***Horas Redwyne:** Born 282, age 16

***Hobber Redwyne:** Born 282, age 16

***Desmera Redwyne:** Born 283, age 15

**-Janna Tyrell: **Born 261, age 37

**Ser Jon Fossoway: **Born 259, age 37

***No issue**

* * *

**Starks' Relation to the Targaryens:**

**King Daeron the Good married to Magnara Lyanna Stark (daughter of Cregan):**

**Princess Daenerys Targaryen married to Magnar Brandon Stark (son of Cregan):**

**Princess Daella Targaryen married to Magnar Edwyle Stark:**

**Prince Rhaegar Targaryen married to Magnara Lyanna Stark:**


	2. Alysanne I

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. **

**Hey, I'm back! How was everyone's Christmas/New Years? Hope it was better than mine was (admitted to hospital for emergency surgery on the 22****nd****, can you believe it? I'm still wiped). **

**So, whilst recovering from surgery I started playing around with another new story idea that has taken up all of my (limited) energy. The first chunk of it is quite similar to the books/show, so by now it's about 20 chapters in, and I decided to post it. **

**I know, I typically don't like to have more than 2 stories on at once, but Star of the North is almost done already, and I've got some writer's block when it comes to the sequel for ASoMS, while A Song of Vengeance is pouring out onto my laptop. Tell me in your reviews what you think!**

**A lot of characters will be OOC in this, Ned's a lot less honourable whilst Oberyn, who I have always considered a very straightforward and honourable person was raised in the Vale by Jon Arryn (High As Honour) in this. He's not as naïve as canon!Ned, but there're a lot of similarities between them. He's also not so liberal with his daughters, nor is Dorne's culture so laissez-faire, as due to being conquered instead of willingly joining the Seven Kingdoms, they were not given so much laxity. Aly is an OC, Lyanna's twin sister.**

**As usual, read, enjoy and review**

**Chapter One**

**Alysanne I**

_**Sunspear: January 3**__**rd**__**, 298 AC**_

The scorching midday sun beat down on the back of Aly's neck as she followed the sounds of weapons clashing to Sunspear's sparring yard. She paused for a moment on arrival, standing beneath the shade of a blood-orange tree and taking in the scene.

As she had already known, her husband was there, watching carefully as their son and Ironborn ward sparred under the eyes of their master, Ser Symon Santager, the Knight of Spottswood. Rickard was clearly winning, and everyone looking at the pair could tell.

Her eldest boy had not inherited his father's skill with a spear, but he reminded her of her late brother Brandon when it came to swordplay. Brand had been the best swordfighter of their generation, good enough to be the sole man in history allowed to join the Kingsguard despite not being a knight. It always made Aly smile to see Rickard, so much a Stark in looks save for his dark colouring, fight like Brand and act like Benjen with her father's shrewd mind and his name (though he had his father and uncle's fondness for women, something that pleased her much less). It was as if, in the midst of her grief the year after their deaths, her lost loved ones had sent her a child made up of the best parts of them in order to sooth her pain.

It was a fanciful thought, but one that Aly had first thought of when Rickard was a mere toddler and clung to. It was a comfort when the grief over their deaths was at its worst. They might have died honourably, fighting for their lieges, but that provided no balm to her pain over their losses. Dead was dead, and she had never even had the chance to say goodbye properly.

She left the shade and went to stand beside her husband, who leaned down to kiss her in greeting. She returned it, but pulled away quickly enough and turned to glance at the two boys.

"Our son fights well," she commented softly.

"Aye, he does," Oberyn agreed, pride glinting in his dark eyes. "Ser Symon believes that he will be eligible for knighting by next year."

"At five-and-ten?" Aly raised an eyebrow. "He has seen no true combat yet. Not even a tourney."

Oberyn shrugged. "Most haven't by the time of their knighting," he pointed out.

Aly resisted the urge to frown in disapproval. It did not seem right or just to give a military honour to someone who had never fought outside of the yard before. But she had long ago learned that Southrons could be quite foolish in regards to many things. And anyway, despite her disapproval of many southron traditions, that her son was doing so well was something to be proud of. Besides, it was not as if she wanted him to be putting himself at risk, so she said nothing more on the subject. There were other, more urgent, matters to discuss.

"I did not come here to discuss our son's knighting," she informed her husband. "We must speak privately, my lord."

He frowned. "Is aught amiss?" he inquired, looking concerned.

She pursed her lips. "A letter has arrived from the capital," she informed him softly. "You will want to know its contents immediately."

He frowned, looking a mixture of bemused and worried, but nodded. "I will freshen up and meet you in the solar," he replied simply. She nodded briskly then turned and hurried back the way she had come, eager to escape the scorching heat. Usually she would have said a few words to her son first, but Rickard was still focused on the spar and the last thing she wanted to do was distract him as he fought an Ironborn with live steel.

She had watched the Greyjoy heir grow up, but, perhaps unfairly, she had never been able to trust him. The only time in the past century that Dorne had fought the Iron Islanders was during the Greyjoy Rebellion nine years ago, but Aly had grown up in the North, where the harbours all had bells and signals specifically for Ironborn attacks. Theon was far too proud of his descent from a line of rapists and slaveholders for her to feel anything other than unease and suspicion towards the boy. It relieved her that her son, despite the similarity in age, had only a civil relationship with the boy, preferring the companionship of other Dornish heirs such as Willam Wells and Perros Blackmont. She didn't want Theon influencing her boy.

She arrived quickly at the Lord's Solar. Technically, it belonged to Oberyn alone, as Lord Paramount of Dorne. Aly had her own private solar on the other side of the castle. But when they had first wed, one of the first things she had realized about her husband was that, although he was a superb soldier and an intelligent man, he had no idea what he was doing when it came to running a small holdfast, never mind an entire kingdom. Unlike in the Winterlands, the south did not bother teaching their second and third sons how to run lands unless they were guaranteed a keep or such due to a house dying out. Oberyn had been blatantly lost as to how to run Dorne, no matter how much help he had received from his advisors.

She had spent several moons watching him flounder like a fish out of water before reluctantly taking it upon herself to teach her husband what to do, too dutiful to allow her husband and adopted kingdom to suffer because of her unhappiness over the circumstances of her marriage. Oberyn had been surprised, but he had listened to her in spite of her gender and eventually they had managed to find a balance, sharing the work between them. After that, she had never bothered to move her own work back to the Lady's Solar, which was too hot for her comfort and too far for convenience.

She sat at her own desk, slightly smaller and more feminine than her husband's. It had been carved from ironwood, and was decorated with wolves, standing on their back feet to hold the face of the table aloft. A gift from her husband for her first nameday after their wedding.

Aly shuffled through her correspondence as she waited for Oberyn to arrive. She noted a response from Lord Manwoody, consenting to her offer for his sons Dickon and Mors to come to the Water Gardens to be fostered, and quickly scribbled a note reminding herself to organize everything for it. The elder boy was her second son's age, and hopefully they would bond. With the pair, she'd at last have achieved her goal of having an heir or second-in-line for each Dornish House sent to be a ward of her family.

One of the Northron traditions Aly had brought with her to Dorne with her was that, as soon as she had confirmed her pregnancy with Rickard, she had quickly started arranging for the Martell's vassal houses to send their children to foster at Sunspear under her care. Like the way Northron children of all stations were sent to Winterfell to ensure that they would be raised loyal to the Starks, she had wanted to make certain that none of the Dornish houses would plot against her son when he ruled Dorne. That was the same reason she was pushing for a betrothal between Rickard and Gwyneth Yronwood, three years his senior. She'd feel better knowing the troublesome and uncomfortably powerful house was bound tighter to her own. They'd not be plotting to remove the Martells if their daughter was the future Lady Paramount.

Once she had scribbled the reminder, Aly turned to reread the letter she had received the day before from her brother, frowning in concern at its' contents.

_There have been four wilding incursions this year,_ Ned had written. _This new King-Beyond-The-Wall, Mance Rayder, is a former ranger of the Night's Watch, and has managed to join at least five clans together under his leadership. He is familiar with our ways, making it harder to deal with him. Given the amount of losses that the Watch is suffering as of late, I fear that somebody, an old comrade of his mayhaps, may have turned traitor. Either that or else there is some breach in one of the forts that the wildlings have learned of. I have written to the Usurper to alert him to the situation, as it is most likely that I shall be forced to call the banners. _

_I-_

Her reading was interrupted by her husband's arrival, hair still damp from his wash. She glanced at the timepiece in the corner, noting that he must have rushed through his wash to come and find out what she had to tell him.

"My love," he said after entering, brown eyes crinkled in concern.

She gave a strained smile as she rose to greet him. She was at a loss as to how to tell him the news. It would grieve him deeply, but Aly herself could feel no sorrow. In fact, she felt the opposite, a bitter joy. It was not as satisfying as the deaths one of the Lannisters or Baratheons would be, but it was still satisfying to know that the man who had directed the army that her father had died fighting against was dead at last. Nearly eighty years was much too long a life to be just. Not when her loving papa had not seen five decades before he had died in the Usurper's War. The sole mercy was that he'd died several moons before the Battle of the Trident, sparing him from learning of the deaths of three of his children and grandchildren.

For the sake of their children, Aly had forgiven Oberyn his role in what had happened to her family. She was rational enough to acknowledge that he had been justified in rising against Aerys, though not the Targaryens themselves. But she would not forgive the rest of the rebels for their sins against her family. _Especially_ not the gruesome and unjustified events of the Sack.

"What's wrong, Aly?" he asked concernedly, perching on the side of his own desk and pulling her onto his lap. She allowed the improper position solely because he would require comfort in a few moments, and they could not be seen. Nobody would dare to enter their solar without knocking first, nor could someone look in through the window, which was covered by a gauzy curtain that obscured the view of the room's interior.

She sighed and cupped his jaw gently. There was no way to soften the blow, so she told him straight. "Forgive me for the grim news that I bear, my love. As I said, word came from the capital a few hours' past. I came to find you as soon as I read the letter. Jon Arryn is dead."

His eyes found hers, and she could see how hard it took him, as she had known it would. In his youth, Oberyn had fostered at the Eyrie, and the childless Lord Arryn had become a second father to him and his fellow ward, the then-Lord Robert Baratheon. And in 282 when King Aerys had declared the Martells and Baratheons traitors and demanded the pairs' heads, the Lord of the Eyrie had instead chosen to raise his moon-and-falcon banners in revolt rather than give up the young men he had pledged to protect.

Aly's own family had fought on the side of the loyalists during the Rebellion. How could they have done otherwise, when the Targaryens were their kin thrice-over? Her twin sister had been the mother of Rhaegar's twin children and Brand a Kingsguard. Barbrey Ryswell, Brandon's beloved and long-time mistress, along with his daughter Melara Snow and their youngest brother Benjen had all spent the war in the Red Keep with Lya and her babes, unofficial hostages to assure Aerys that the North would not turn against the Crown in spite of the insult to her sister.

Their army had fought fiercely, but all of their efforts had been for nought due to the lions' trickery, damn them all to the deepest of the Andals' seven hells.

She pushed the anger and grief that were invoked by the agonizing memories away and focused on her husband instead.

"Jon . . . " he muttered, looking stricken. "Is this news certain?"

"It was the king's seal, and the letter is in his own hand," she replied, as gently as she could. For his sake, she would not celebrate Lord Arryn's death. But she could not find it within herself to regret the death of one of the men who'd denied her kin the justice they had deserved. "I saved it for you, if you wish. He said that Lord Arryn was taken quickly. All of the maesters were helpless, but Pycelle brought the milk of the poppy, so he did not linger long in pain."

"That is something, I suppose," he said. She could see the grief on his face, hear the unsteadiness in his tone. She was unsurprised when he gently pushed her away before sliding off of his desk and pacing the length of the room, abruptly punching the wall. Oberyn was an active man, he needed to_ do_ things, not sit around thinking and speaking. That he could do nothing, that he hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye, would wear on her husband, Aly knew.

"He was seventy-eight, my love," she murmured, not even flinching when he slammed his fist into the wall. "A longer life than many get. And 'twas peaceful, by all accounts. But I am sorry."

Anger suddenly drained away, he came back over to her side, reached out and took her hand to kiss it, his expression troubled and drawn. "It just seems so sudden," he muttered. "Yes, he was nigh on eighty, but I received a letter from him but a sennight past, and there was no indication that anything was wrong."

Aly did not know what to say, so she went on. This next piece of news was even worse in her own opinion, but it would undoubtably cheer her husband up immensely.

"The letter had other tidings. The king is coming to Sunspear to seek you out. They ought to arrive in a turn of the moon at the most."

It took Oberyn a moment to comprehend her words, but when the understanding came, the darkness left his eyes. "Robert is coming here?" When she nodded, a smile broke across his face, the shadow of grief disappearing to be replaced with delight. It had been nine years since he had last seen his childhood friend.

Aly could not share his joy. Her stomach twisted with sick disgust at the thought of the Usurper being in her home, interacting with her children. And she could guess why he had decided to visit Oberyn so soon after their former foster father's death, and it was not out of a desire to reminisce over old childhood memories.

The damn butcher stag most likely wanted her husband as his new Hand. The thought of it made her stomach churn in disgust. She didn't want Oberyn going to the thrice-be-damned capital, where her politically-senseless husband would probably be eaten alive by the damn lions. Oberyn was too honourable for his own good, and honour was not a safe thing to have when you played the Game of Thrones, as everyone in the capital had to.

The Red Viper he may be, but they would eat him alive in the capital, Aly knew it.

"Damnation, how many years has it been?" Oberyn muttered, moving restlessly. "And he gives us no more notice than this? How many in his party, did the message say?"

"It did not, but I should think that there will be a hundred knights, at the least, with all their retainers, and half again as many freeriders," Aly replied, thinking of her time serving first Queen Rhaella and then her sister Lyanna as a lady-in-waiting. She added in a cold tone. "Cersei and the children travel with them."

His own expression darkened. Oberyn had not lost anybody to the Lannisters' men, but he was a good man. Even if he were not her husband of fifteen years and hadn't subsequently picked up her loathing for the lions, their actions would have disgusted him.

The Lannisters had waited until the outcome of the war was clear, then used trickery to sack King's Landing and hand over the bodies of her sister and the twins over to the new king as proof of their loyalty. Lyanna had fallen with a sword in hand, having fought to the death to protect the keep, her body then despoiled by being thrown to some dogs to be chewed on until it was retrieved. Her twin infants had been so badly bashed against the wall they had been nigh-on unidentifiable, save for the wisps of Dany's silver hair. Barbrey, who had tried to hide the babes, had been raped and then cut in half, her dress stained with the blood of her daughter, sweet three-year-old Melara. Aly's younger brother Benjen had been cut to pieces and his body parts tossed at the weirwood tree. Basically every Northron in the capital had been butchered, right down to the kitchen maid and children. The women had almost all been raped before being killed too.

And then, to add insult to injury, the Usurper had refused the North's demands for their killers to be handed over for justice to be served. For all the Usurper had been raised by a man whose House words were High As Honour, there had been no honour in the aftermath of the war. Oberyn had been the only one to argue for punishment for her family's murder, and he had been overruled, the rebels more concerned with appeasing the allied West than the opposing North. Instead, the rebels had ordered that Aly wed Oberyn, Robert's most trusted friend. They had dressed it up prettily, speaking of healing the wounds of war and creating ties between the kingdoms, but everybody had known she was to be a hostage to keep the Winterlands from seeking their revenge.

Ned had offered to continue the fight, but Aly had known that it would be suicide for their people. They'd been worn out from the year of fighting, the other loyalists had already bent the knee. Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys were all that was left of the royal family and they had been forced to flee to the Free Cities for safety. Winter had already lasted over six years by then, and they were verging on famine with the war. If they were to fight on, they'd have sealed their people's fate, something no Stark could allow. The North had to come first. The greenseers had settled the matter when they had informed them that Aly wedding Oberyn would eventually allow them to avenge her family's deaths. If marrying the Usurper's Snake and bearing his heirs would allow her siblings to gain their revenge, then she would do so willingly and gladly.

That being said, she had still been more than unhappy with her marriage. The tension between herself and her husband had lasted for some time, until she had at last found it in herself to start trying to forgive him for the sake of her children, both those she had borne and his three bastard daughters she had raised and loved as if they were her own. It had not been an easy thing for her to do, but Aly had made oaths to him before the gods, and she had been raised to hold true to her word. Besides, any Northron dead at Oberyn's hands had died honourably in war. He had been the sole rebel to argue that her family's murderers be handed over to the North for justice. His actions were forgivable to her, those of the others were not.

"Robert will keep an easy pace for their sakes," he stated, avoiding the delicate topic. "It is just as well. That will give us more time to prepare."

"The queen's brothers are also in the party," she told him. Her tone had grown even colder. The queen's brothers: Ser Jaime Lannister, a member of the Kingsguard and the Imp, Tyrion, Heir Presumptive to the Westerlands.

She cared nothing for the Half-Man who had been but a child when his father's men murdered her sister, but even the thought of Jaime Lannister made her seethe and wish to rip somebody's neck out, to remind them that the Starks were not to be crossed lightly.

The whitecloaked lion had been the sole Kingsguard in King's Landing during the Sack. Lyanna had trusted him, considered him to be a good man and a friend of sorts (as much as anybody was a friend in the Red Keep). Yet when her sister had been ordering the defence of the city, and fighting to protect her son and daughter, he had been nowhere to be found as his father's men murdered the people he had sworn to protect. He hadn't even been with Aerys when the Mad King had impaled himself on his own throne, at last doing the world the only favour the madman had ever done in his entire life.

"It sounds as though Robert is bringing half his court," Oberyn commented, breaking her from her dark thoughts of the Lannisters.

"Where the king goes, the realm follows," she replied curtly. She despised all of it fiercely. The thought of hosting the Usurper and his damned lioness of a wife infuriated her. The thought of them interacting with her children was sickening. Yet for the sake of keeping her family safe, she would do so.

"It will be good to see the children, judge the measure of our future king," Oberyn commented. "The youngest was still suckling at the queen's teat the last time I saw him. He must be, what, five by now? Prince Tommen I believe."

"You are correct, and he is seven," she told him, even as she bitterly noted that it ought to be Aegon's measure that was being taken, not the son of the Butcher King and the Lannister whore. "A few moons' older than Arron is."

He glanced at her, eyes wary. No doubt he had realized what she was thinking. She did not hide her opinions of the Lannisters from him.

"You could go away to stay with one of our vassals for the visit," he offered. "I can claim you are ill, and wished to shield the royal family from any risk of contagion, or the like. You do not have to endure their presence."

Aly shook her head firmly at that. She would not allow the traitors to chase her from her own home like some craven. Nor would she be able to rest, knowing that they were around her family without her there to counter any poison they whispered in her family's ears. She was the only one experienced with court and its' venom out of her family, it was her duty to ensure that she protected them from the dangers they would fail to spot.

"Do not be concerned, my lord husband," she replied with more than a little bitterness, smoothing down the folds of her dress. "I will remain here and guard my tongue for the sake of our family. I will not make a mention of how she gained her crown by her father's men murdering my family, nor will I bring up the fact that their killers were rewarded, not punished for the murders of two princesses and the Crown Prince, not to mention a Magnar of the Winterlands and several dozen lords and ladies of my kingdom, as well as servants."

Her fists clenched so tightly at her own words she drew blood.

Oberyn squeezed her hand. "I will speak with Robert when he is here," he promised earnestly. "It has been fifteen years, he has children of his own now. His anger will have calmed, I am certain that he will listen to reason and agree to have Clegane brought to justice for his actions."

Aly pursed her lips. She disagreed, but she knew from experience that there was no point in saying so. Not when it came to the Usurper, her husband's surrogate brother and dearest friend. They'd had similar arguments many times, but nothing she said or did could make Oberyn realize that Baratheon was not a good man, that the man had never been anything more than a brute, his vicious nature obscured by a handsome face and charming façade.

Even if, by some miracle, Oberyn managed to convince the Usurper to have the Mountain brought to justice for his actions against her family, that still left the man behind the whole massacre. For all the Old Lion denied it, everybody knew Lyanna and her children had died on his orders. There would be no peace until Lyanna and her babes were avenged, and the Targaryens restored to their rightful place on the Iron Throne.

The North Remembered, and it was patient. Aly had waited fifteen years for revenge so far, she was willing to wait fifteen more. Just as long as the lions were extinct by the end of it.

It would not be the first time the Starks had exterminated an entire House for crimes against their family. They had not maintained their rule for eight millennia and been the sole kingdom to successfully manage to repel the dragons by being good-natured and forgiving of old slights.

But for the sake of the love she bore the man she had given seven children, Aly said none of this.

"There must be a feast, of course, with singers," she stated instead, not answering Oberyn's earlier words. "And I expect that the king will want to hunt. We shall have to begin to organize things right away."

"Aye," Oberyn agreed, consenting to her silent request to change the subject. "You're right, as per usual. I will have Daemon sent to meet them with an honour guard. Gods, how are we going to feed them all? A turn of the moon, you said? Damn Robert's royal ass, the inconsiderate cur."


	3. Aegon I

**Aegon and Jon are one in the same, but different character wise, due to different upbringings. Also, Dany and Jon are twins in this.**

**Chapter Two**

**Aegon I**

_**Volantis: January 9**__**th**__**, 298 AC**_

Today was the day. Today, he, Aegon Tarygaryen, Sixth of His Name, the exiled and true King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, would wed Talisa Maegyr, the daughter of Malaquo Maegyr, the most powerful of the Ruling Triarchs of Volantis who had been re-elected three times and was expected to continue in his role for the foreseeable future.

The last election had been one for the history books. For the first time in around four centuries, the tigers held a majority in the Triarchy, and Maegyr himself was the leader of the party. As such, with Aegon's marriage to Lady Talisa, he would secure the support of Volantis for his campaign to regain the Iron Throne. Combined with the army that his kin in the ever-loyal Winterlands had promised that they would supply him with, and by taking the Usurper by surprise, and Aegon was sure that taking back the Seven Kingdoms from the Butcher Stag who had stolen it from him would be simple. Not_ easy_, war was not an easy thing, but simple and quick.

He was broken from his thoughts by a knock on his bedroom door. "Enter!" he called, turning and smiling at the sight of his grandmother.

Rhaella, the Queen Grandmother of Westeros, was still a beautiful woman even at fifty-two namedays. Trailing after her was Aegon's twin sister Daenerys and his two young aunts, thirteen-year-old Joy and ten-year-old Jocelyn Hasty. They were the daughters of Rhaella's second husband, Bonifer, who had wed his grandmother shortly after their flight to the Free Cities. They were miracles really, given that out of his grandmother's seven pregnancies by the late King Aerys, only Aegon's late father Rhaegar and his uncle Viserys had survived infancy.

Both girls were brunette versions of their mother, and little Joss clutched at Rhaella's hand as they entered, almost bouncing with excitement.

Of course, knowing Joss, she was probably more excited about her new dress than about the wonderous consequences of this wedding. She was but a child, of course, so Aegon did not mind. Joss and Joy had yet to even exist when they'd fled their homeland, they did not share the rest of the family's desperation to regain the throne that belonged to them. Of course, Aegon and his sister had been but infants at the time, but still there was a desperate longing to return to the Seven Kingdoms within him. The Iron Throne was his by rights. His parents had given their lives to defend their dynasty. Aegon would not fail them and his other ancestors.

No, he would get back the Iron Throne, reward the loyalists and punish the Usurper and his supporters for all that they had done.

The Lannisters in particular would pay. Their actions towards his kin would be returned in kind. Aegon would give them Fire and Blood for the atrocities that they had committed.

Joss was smoothing down the red and black skirts of her dress, her violet eyes sparkling with happiness

. It was made of silk, a rare treat for the girls given the fact that they needed to save their coin for their campaign. His uncle sent what he could, but the man could only do so much with the eyes of the Usurper upon him. Aegon looked forward to the day when his sister and aunts were at last treated as the Princesses of the Realm they truly were. When that day came, new dresses would be a daily thing if they so desired, not simply a rare treat for special occasions or else bought when their old ones were on the verge of falling apart.

"My dear grandson," his mother greeted him, curtseying. The girls copied her, but Aegon quickly bid them to rise. They were family, and didn't need to act subservient to him in private. In public was another matter, but it was only right that his family have special privileges. The Queen Grandmother released the hand of her youngest child and came to embrace him, her beautiful purple eyes shimmering with tears in the candlelight.

"Are you excited to marry Lady Talisa, Egg?" Joss asked, bounding over to him. He smiled at her affectionately. Joss was sweetness incarnate, she had been since infancy. Birthing her had nearly killed Rhaella, but none of them could never hold that against her. She was too gentle and innocent, and such things happened by the Gods' wills. It was never right to blame a child for birthing difficulties, nor the mother.

Besides, as far as his pious grandmother and her husband were concerned, Rhaella's survival was proof of the Gods' support for their cause.

Also according to the couple, all of the struggles they had gone through were merely to prepare him for the day he took the Iron Throne, to allow him to be a better ruler. Jaehaerys the First had gone through similar difficulties, forced to flee the wrath of his uncle Maegor the Cruel alongside his mother and sister, and he was considered one of the finest kings produced by their House. Aegon idolized Jaehaerys. The man had been a shrewd ruler, but had the ability to fight as well. He was determined that he would follow in his footsteps one day.

A day that would be so much closer by sunset.

"I am very excited," he told his young aunt, smiling at the guileless happiness in her purple orbs. His family were reminders of what he fought for. They deserved better than exile and fear of the Usurper's assassins slitting their throats in the dead of night.

"I think that Talisa will make a good queen when we return home to Westeros," Joy stated thoughtfully. She was a maiden flowered now, though Rhaella wished to wait a few more years for her to wed. In the Queen Grandmother's opinion, her early pregnancy had been the cause of her later difficulties with childbearing, and she did not wish a similar heartache on either of her daughters. Aegon didn't mind having Joy wait. It would be difficult for he and his step-grandfather to find a man worthy of any of the girls, and the fact that they were relatives to the king made it even harder.

Aegon himself was personally inclined to see at least one of the girls wed to the Starks, as reward and thanks for his uncle's steadfast aid and support over the past decade and a half. Without the Northrons' help, they'd never have escaped Dragonstone, let alone survived this long. It had been one of his mother's Northron ladies who had smuggled himself and Dany out of the Red Keep after news had come of their father's death on the Trident, and a Winterlander guard had offered his own son to take Aegon's place alongside the dragonseed baby girl who had replaced Dany to keep the act secret. The Winterlanders deserved to be rewarded for their loyalty. But there was also the fact that marriage to the girls could be used to gain support for their cause.

Still, there was time to think about it. Now was not that time.

"She is very kind to everyone," Joy continued. "And very clever as well. Mother is always saying that kindness and cleverness are the characteristics a queen needs the most."

"Grandmother is right," Dany agreed. "As are you. Talisa will be a good queen for my brother."

"Girls," their mother cut in. "I wish to speak with Aegon in privacy for a few moments. Please go and find Bonifer and Viserys. I shall meet you all in the chapel."

"Yes Mother," the girls chorused, looking disappointed. They hugged Aegon, Dany whispering soft words of love and confidence into his ear, before Joy gently took ahold of Joss' smaller hand and guided her out of the chambers again, Dany leading the way.

In another life, he might have wed one of his aunts or else Dany herself. But his grandmother had ingrained in him the importance of abandoning that particular tradition, and he agreed fully that it was for the best to do so. She feared that their continuing to wed brother to sister had drawn the wrath of the gods upon their House, leading to its' downfall. Although they were dragons, they were still mortals, and not above the power of the Seven, in spite of what the Doctrine of Exception claimed. Perhaps more importantly to him personally, though was that, according to his grandmother, his mother had once extracted a vow from his father that Aegon would not wed his twin sister, or any other sisters that he had. She had hated the tradition fiercely, and never wanted any of her children to follow it. Aegon would not disrespect her wishes. Not when they were all that was left of the brave Wolf Princess.

"Oh, my beloved grandson," Grandmother sighed once the girls had left. They sat beside each other on the chaise, and she cupped his cheek with her small hand. "You are so grown up. It seems that but yesterday the midwife handed you to me after your birth. My heart burst with the strength of my joy to behold you, and I knew that the gods had flipped their coin and that you were meant for greatness."

"Thank you Grandmother," he replied huskily. She was the Mother incarnate, gracious and beautiful despite all of her suffering, not just from the Usurper's War and its' consequences. He had not known, as a child, that his grandfather had been a brutal madman. Viserys had been the sole person to speak of Aerys to him, and his uncle had only ever seen the laughing man who balanced him on his knee and told him stories of their House and dragons, Rhaella having shielded her youngest son from his father's insane cruelty. He knew the truth now, and it was a painful one. But his grandmother was wonderful, intelligent, politically skilled and caring.

She deserved so much better than a life in exile.

"I wish that your father was here," Grandmother stated, voice shaking the slightest amount at the recollection of her lost son. "You look just as he did on the day he wed Lyanna. For all you favour her in colouring, you are very alike to him in features. You remind me of him in many ways."

"That is the greatest compliment that I could have ever received from you, Grandmother," he answered solemnly. He had no memories of his parents. He'd not yet seen his first nameday when they had died. All he knew of them came from stories, especially from Viserys, his uncle and best friend in spite of the age difference between them.

Viserys' memories of Rhaegar were both dim but strong at once. Rhaegar had been many years his elder, often lost in books or duties, but he had still taken the time to play with Viserys and read stories to him. All of the family was positive that the accusations of him kidnapping and raping Elia Martell had been nought more than malicious lies cocked up by the rebels to besmirch his House all the more. Elia had been a homewrecking whore with ambitions stronger than being Lady of Storm's End, and she had seduced his father away from his lawful wife, everybody swore that it was so. Rhaegar had been far too good to harm or force any lady in such a manner. And why would he have wanted to, when he'd had Lyanna Stark, beautiful and strong, as his wife?

All their retinue had adored Aegon's late mother. By all accounts, Lyanna had been brilliant. She had been fun and compassionate, filled with fire. She was brave too, and a loving mother whose expression was said to have sparkled with loving pride whenever she presented her newborn twins.

She had not deserved the brutal fate she had been given.

Nor did her sister, lovely Aly. It made Aegon shudder in disgust to know that his aunt, the lady who had soothed Viserys' nightmares as a child and been like a daughter to Queen Rhaella, had been forced to wed the Usurper's Snake. The eight children she had borne were proof of what the man had put her through, and Aegon was determined to see her honour avenged.

He would see the Viper pay for killing his father and for his actions towards his poor aunt, and then he would arrange for her to live out the remainder of her life however she wished, whether that meant remarrying to a man of her choosing or else retiring in lands he would provide her to live alone and peacefully, or even going back to the North if she preferred such. But he would allow her children to retain their inheritance in spite of their father's actions. After all, he could acknowledge that his grandfather had been wrong to execute Doran Martell and his family, and he had been taught not to blame children for their parents' deeds. They were still his kin, in spite of the circumstances.

His grandmother sighed and ran a hand through his long brown locks, smiling softly. "I love you so very much, my boy," she murmured. "Promise me that you will be a good, kind husband to your wife. Do not be cruel to her, either in word or deed. Should you stray from her bed, be discreet about it. Recall the Blackfyre Rebellions, and do not allow your trueborn heirs to be threatened by any bastards you sire, understood? That is absolutely _vital_. Do not abuse your power over the lady. Not only would it jeopardize our alliance with the Maegyrs given how dearly Malaquo loves his only daughter, but you are a better man than that. I know that you are."

He knew that all of the advice she gave him came from bitter, painful experience. Solemnly, he raised her delicate hands to his lips and kissed them gently.

"I swear to you Grandmother," he vowed, putting all of the earnestness that he could muster within himself into his voice. "I shall be a good, loving husband to Lady Talisa, and I will be a just and merciful king for the Seven Kingdoms. I will make you as proud as you were of my father."

"Oh, my brilliant grandson," she sighed in response. "You have always made me proud, ever since the day that you were born. You are young yet, but brave, wise and strong. I know without a doubt that you shall be a great king. You will go down in history books alongside your namesake the Conqueror, Jaehaerys the Wise and Daeron the Good, of that I am certain. Do not be concerned, my young dragonwolf. You make me the proudest woman alive, every day that passes. And I have complete faith that your parents, whether they are resting in the Seven Heavens or in your mother's Valhalla, are watching with just as much pride as I feel."

"Thank you Grandmother," Aegon said, voice hoarse. She smiled and kissed his forehead, pulling away as another knock came.

Aegon stood, hastily smoothing down his tunic. "Enter!" he called for the second time that hour.

Jorah Mormont stuck his head around the edge of the door and bowed to him. Jorah was the rightful Lord of Bear Island who had given up his inheritance in favour of serving the Targaryens. He acted as a double-agent for them, pretending to be spying on Rhaella and Viserys for the Usurper and in fact giving false information with just enough truth in it to keep their enemies from becoming suspicious of his loyalties. Thanks to him, Aegon and Dany's survival remained hidden, and the Usurper and his people all believed that the exiled Targaryen supporters served Viserys.

Of course, Lord Mormont was but one of over several hundred men and women who had given up their lives to flee their homes and serve the true ruler of Westeros, both at the end of the War and in the years afterwards.

When Dragonstone had been besieged, Aegon's grandmother had huddled with his uncle in the castle, protected by a mixture of Crownlander and Winterlander men. From the story, Aegon had gathered that after the Sack of King's Landing, some people had begun to suggest handing over the queen and prince in exchange for mercy.

Then, a stormy night a moon after King's Landing had fallen to the West's treachery, the remnants of the royal and Northron fleets had fought against the combined forces of the Reach and Westerland fleets, whilst a small group containing Viserys and his mother fled to the shelter of the Free Cities, where the Usurper could not get to them. Later on, a small escort had arrived with Aegon and Dany to join their family in exile. Of both of those groups, the majority were Northrons or Crownlanders who had given up their homes and families to follow the Targaryens into exile, with a few others from various kingdoms, such as Ser Willem Darry from the Riverlands, the Lord Commander of Aegon's Kingsguard, and Jon Connington, the Lord of Griffith's Roost and his late father Rhaegar's closest friend.

All of those brave men and women would be amply rewarded for their devotion once Aegon had regained his throne.

"My king," Jorah bowed. "'Tis time."

"Thank you, Jorah," Aegon answered. He pecked his grandmother's cheek before passing her into the care of the Northron soldier, promising to follow in a moment.

He paused a minute to pick up the crown that rested on the table and place it on his head. The crown had been sent along with himself and Dany and several other Targaryen treasures. They'd been forced to sell several of those treasures to keep themselves afloat, but most remained, thankfully.

The crown had once belonged to his namesake, Aegon the Conqueror.

**ASoV/ASoV/ASoV**

They had organized to have two different wedding ceremonies on the same day, one following each of his and Talisa's religions. As the Maegyrs, like many of the Old Blood of Volantis, still followed the Old Gods of Valyria (who seemed to be the Old Gods of the Winterlands but with names and some differences in worship and customs, as far as Aegon could tell), the more public ceremony would occur following his bride's religious customs after the first one. That one would be attended mostly by Volantene nobility. The private ceremony would be in accordance with the traditions of the Seven, with Aegon's loyal retinue attending and Septon Barre, who had fled Dragonstone with Rhaella and Viserys, presiding over it.

Aegon himself followed both the Old Gods and the New, as did Dany. Their mother had apparently desired they be raised knowing of both sides of their heritage, and so Rhaella, despite her own deep devotion to the Seven, had honoured her deceased gooddaughter's wishes.

Aegon smiled at his bride as the septon wrapped a cord of rope, made with a different colour for each of the Seven, around their wrists as they held hands.

Talisa was beautiful, a true Valyrian with pale skin, silver-gold hair and purple-blue eyes. They had become friends as children, when his grandmother was trying to forge alliances on his behalf. He was not in love with her, but he cared deeply for her and was attracted to her. He had great confidence that they would make a great couple, and rule as partners. If they were lucky, love would come with time. Otherwise, he was content with having a close and trusted friend as his wife instead.

"Do you, King Aegon VI of House Targaryen, take this woman as your wedded wife?" Septon Barre asked. "Willst thou honour her, love her, protect her, comfort her and keep her, in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, as long as you both shall live?"

"I will," Aegon replied without hesitation.

"Do you, Lady Talisa of House Maegyr, take this man as your wedded husband?" the septon turned to her. "Willst thou obey him and serve him, love, honour and keep him, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?"

"I will," she answered in her musical, smiling broadly back at him with sparkling eyes.

"Please remove the lady's maiden cloak and replace it with your own, Your Grace," Septon Barre ordered, once Talisa had made her vow.

"Repeat after me together seven times," the holy man instructed them after Aegon had done so. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone and Stranger, I am his/hers, and s/he is mine, from this day until the end of my days."

They repeated the words, and then it was almost over.

"Now, kiss the bride and pledge your love," Barre ordered them.

Aegon kissed her, savouring the taste of berries on her lips, before they separated and Talisa completed her vows. "With this kiss I pledge my love and take thee for my lord and husband," his new wife declared, voice filled with calm confidence.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take thee for my lady and wife," Aegon finished. Their hands were still linked as they turned to the small crowd of Westerosi who had gathered to watch their king wed his Volantene bride.

His sister beamed at him, ignoring the tears shimmering in her purple eyes. Viserys, ever the trickster, grinned proudly and gave a thumbs up, and his grandmother dabbed delicately at the tears in her own eyes with a handkerchief as her husband rubbed her arm to comfort her.

"King Aegon VI and Queen Talisa of House Targaryen are now man and wife," Septon Barre announced. "One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be the one who comes between them."


	4. Oberyn I

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. **

**Warning for brief mention of domestic violence, child death and death in childbirth!**

**I'm glad that everyone is seeming excited by this. Like I said, the first chunk will be quite similar to the first book, but there will be lots of differences as well, and changes to it. There will be deaths, but different ones to the books. (Though how I'll decide who dies and who survives I've no idea. I hate killing off my characters. It's like killing my child).**

**And as one reviewer asked, no Aly doesn't know that Aegon and Dany are alive, but Ned does. He didn't know at first though. By the time he learned they were alive, Aly had been married to Oberyn, and he thought it would be safer (for her and the twins) if he didn't tell her, as in the loyalists' eyes she was a captive. First Men take their oaths very seriously, and Aly made Andal vows before a heart tree so he didn't want to risk giving her any information on his work to avenge their family so she wouldn't be caught in the middle.**

**Chapter Three**

**Oberyn I**

_**Sunspear: February 8**__**th**__**, 298 AC**_

Oberyn cast a quick glance over the courtyard as the gates were pulled open to allow entrance to the court.

Aly was at his side, her expression blank in the way he imagined it had been when she'd been a member of Aerys' court and bearing witness to his fits of madness. She had truly outdone herself in readying the castle for their guests, though he suspected it was more to spite the queen by giving her no cause for complaint than out of a desire for his friend to be comfortable. She looked beautiful as ever, her chestnut hair pulled into an elaborate crown-style with tiny fire opal pins, dressed in an orange dress that tied with a pair of sun-shaped gold clips at the shoulders and left her arms bare. Loreza was balanced on her hip, their four-year-old youngest sucking on her thumb, completely uninterested in the proceedings.

On his other side was Rickard, his eldest son. Oberyn felt a surge of pride as he took in Rick's straight back and his proud visage. His son would be a better Lord of Dorne than Oberyn would ever manage to be.

Aliandra was on Rick's far side, dressed similarly to her mother and seeming as if she had not been to the stables at all that day. Oberyn wondered what Aly had threatened their eldest daughter with to make her comply and act ladylike. Lia would much prefer to spend her entire life in the stables than ever sew a thing, though she did try. It simply wasn't in her nature. He suppressed a frown as he looked at her. He had always been close with all of his children, doing his best to spend more time with them then many fathers would consider appropriate. Yet lately, Lia had been distant, avoiding him. He had no idea what he had done to upset her, and it bothered him.

The twins were standing beside one another, Dorren looking interested in something other than his books for once and Mariah, his dreamy little girl, nearly bouncing with excitement at the coming court. She loved her songs and stories so, in spite of Aly's attempts to 'stop their children from being summer children'. Oberyn had not really helped in her quest to educate their daughters on reality, he could admit. He thought it better to shield from things a young lady ought not to know of. He still worried that giving into Aly's pleas to allow them to learn to use a dagger had been a mistake, though it was reassuring to know that none of his daughters would be as easily stolen as his sister had been.

Lewyn and Arron were both to their best to appear mature, but their fidgeting gave it away. Oberyn grinned, more amused than anything else. He was fiercely proud of all of his children. It pained him that he'd had to have his eldest three put in the second line, and Aly had made several cutting remarks about the south's attitude towards illegitimate children. But on the bright side, the girls were tucked out of sight of any Lannisters.

The last thing his family needed was somebody laying eyes on Meria and starting to make any connections between her birth and his sister's death. That was his largest concern about Robert's visit. Thank the Gods, Meria was a Martell through-and-through. Even Aly, who'd spent years interacting closely with Rhaegar on a daily basis, had never picked up on Meria's heritage.

Gods willing, nobody ever would. Oberyn fully intended to take the secret of Meria's birth to his grave, no matter how much hurt it caused her not to know of her mother, or the pain that would flash through Aly's eyes when he refused to speak of Meria's mother. He knew that she believed he loved Meria's mother more than her, and Meria more than their other children because of that. It was not true, and his love for Elia was very, very different from his love for his wife (thank the Gods for that too). But he couldn't tell her.

Not after lying to her for so long.

He forced his thoughts away as the procession began to pour through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver and polished steel. He judged it to be about three hundred strong, made up of bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and freeriders and more. Over their heads a dozen golden banners whipped back and forth in the faint and refreshing breeze, emblazoned with the crowned stag of Baratheon.

The sight of Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy made Aly's expression tighten, though she retained her neutrality with admirable willpower. He knew perfectly well what she thought of the pair. Selmy had sworn his sword to Robert just after the Trident, when Aly's nephew, King Aerys and Prince Viserys had all still lived, along with Queen Rhaella and Princess Daenerys. In Aly's eyes, the man should have died instead of betraying his lieges by bending the knee. Her loathing for Jaime, the only Kingsguard in the capital who had been nowhere to be seen whilst his father's men killed her sister and Lyanna's children, was almost frightening in its intensity at times.

But Oberyn could not give any comfort to his wife. He was too stunned by the sight of the huge man at the head of the column, flanked by two unfamiliar knights in the snow-white cloaks of the Kingsguard. He seemed almost a stranger to Oberyn . . . until he vaulted off the back of his warhorse with a familiar roar, and crushed him in a bone-crunching hug that knocked the breath out of him. "Oberyn! Ah, but it is good to see that face of yours." Robert looked him over top to bottom, and laughed. "You've gotten fat. I can barely recognize you, you look so different."

Robert was one to talk. Fifteen years past, when they had set out from the Vale to win a war together, the Demon of the Trident had been clean-shaven, clear-eyed, and muscled like a maiden's fantasy. Six and a half feet tall, he towered over most men, and when he donned his armour and the great antlered helmet of his House, he became a veritable giant. He'd had a giant's strength too, his weapon of choice a spiked iron warhammer that Oberyn could barely lift on his best days, not at all on the rest of them. In those days, the smell of leather and blood had clung to him like incense.

Now it was the scent of perfume that clung to him, and he had a girth to match his height. Oberyn had last seen the king nine years before during Balon Greyjoy's rebellion, when they had last fought side-by-side, that time to end the pretensions of the self-proclaimed King of the Iron Islands. Robert had looked similar enough to their youth at the time, if a bit tired and worn by the weight of his crown and the memories of the war and what had caused it.

But things had changed a great deal in the past few years it seemed. Since the night they had stood side by side in Greyjoy's fallen stronghold at Pyke, where Robert had accepted the rebels' surrender and Oberyn had taken the last surviving Greyjoy male as both hostage and ward, the king had gained at least eight stone. A beard as coarse and black as iron wire covered his jaw to hide his double chin and the sag of the royal jowls, but nothing could hide his stomach or the dark circles under his eyes.

Oberyn himself had gained a few subtle wrinkles and strands of grey hair, but otherwise he looked much the same as when he'd been a young warrior and the new Lord of Dorne. He definitely hadn't gotten fat either. He knew it, because he could still fit into his old armour from his pre-Rebellion years. He often wore it when sparring.

He smirked at his old friend, hiding how troubled he felt by Robert's appearance. "Me?" he said in a jesting tone, ignoring people's blatant disapproval at his light-hearted attitude towards his king. Robert was Robert, even with a crown on his head and some extra pounds on his belly. Oberyn could not bring himself to treat him otherwise, as if they had not been raised side-by-side as brothers. "_I _have grown fat? Look at the kettle calling the pot black, _Your Grace_." He spoke the title in a mocking tone as he pointedly looked at Robert's girth and his old friend let out a roar of laughter, dragging Oberyn into a tight embrace.

By then the others were dismounting as well, and servants were coming forward for their mounts. Queen Cersei entered on foot with her younger children. Both of them images were of their mother, as their elder brother also was. Oberyn couldn't see a speck of Robert in them, but he supposed he had yet to be properly introduced to the children. Perhaps when he was closer he would see more of a resemblance, and of course he had yet to interact with them at all, so he could say nothing of their characters.

The wheelhouse in which they had ridden, a huge double-decked carriage of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by forty heavy draft horses, was too big for the yard, especially when it was full of people. Aly eyed it with a blank expression that Oberyn recognized as contempt. She was Northron to the core, and utterly loathed ostentatiousness. In the early years of his rule as Lord Paramount, his wife's frugality and shrewdness with money had saved Dorne from heavy debt, and allowed them to repay the loan from the Iron Bank that he had taken out to deal with the war expenses. It also meant that they had enough set aside to throw a good-sized feast for each day of the royal visit, and still have enough left over to be secure. When it came to money, his wife was a ruthless genius. She was such with many other things too.

Oberyn knelt to kiss the queen's ring in greeting, before rising, taking a deep breath and praying this went well. Then he turned to introduce his loyalist wife to the royals who had taken the positions that, in another life, would have belonged to her beloved sister and goodbrother.

"My wife, Lady Alysanne Martell," he introduced.

She curtsied lowly, expression devoid of emotion and eyes downcast and meek. There was no obvious sign of the hatred she felt towards the couple, something that relieved Oberyn. The last thing he wanted was for his friend to become suspicious of Aly's allegiance to the Crown.

"Your Graces," she murmured, as everyone watched tensely. "You honour us with your presence. I pray that you enjoy your stay. Should I be able to do anything to ensure your comfort, I beseech you to inform me immediately of it."

Queen Cersei sneered at her, causing Oberyn's jaw to clench, while Robert studied her coolly.

"You look very like your sister, Lady Martell," he commented.

"I am given to understand that is a frequent consequence of being identical twins, Your Grace," Aly remarked blandly in response, face still expressionless. Oberyn knew her well enough to pick up on the subtle fury and loathing in her eyes, however, and he was relieved that nobody else seemed to spy it, and that she was so good at suppressing her anger.

Seemingly satisfied, Robert nodded and turned to Oberyn, and they had their respective children brought forward, introduced, and approved of by both sides. His three eldest trueborn children, Rickard, Lia and Dorren all studied the royal family carefully and thoughtfully. Mariah gazed at them with blatant awe whilst Lewyn and Arron, eight and six respectively, tried not to fidget and Lorie utterly ignored the royals in favour of playing with her mother's hair. Oberyn excused his four-year-old's unintentional rudeness, Robert waving him off indifferently, though the queen's lips were pursed so tightly it seemed as if they had disappeared.

"Don't be ridiculous, Oberyn," he scoffed. "The girl's barely more than a babe, how's she supposed to know any better? Anyway, let's get on with the rest, shall we?"

He was slightly surprised by Robert's three trueborn children. As he had noted already, they were all mirror images of their mother. But they were very different in personality from their father also. Crown Prince Joffrey put Oberyn off immediately, though he could not say why. The boy was clearly arrogant, but Oberyn did not think that was what bothered him. He and Robert had both been arrogant youths, after all. But they had not had the malicious, entitled edge to them that Joffrey seemed to have. Though it was too early to properly judge the boy, and he was Robert's eldest son, so Oberyn tried to put his unease aside as he greeted the other children. Prince Tommen was a shy, plump boy half-hidden in his mother's skirts, whilst Princess Myrcella was quite sweet. He would never have guessed that they were Baratheons at all, let alone Robert's children, were it not for the fact that he knew it was so already.

No sooner had the formalities of greeting been completed than Robert turned to Oberyn and said, "Take me down to your crypt, Oberyn. I would pay my respects."

Oberyn loved him all the more for that, for still remembering her after all these years. He nodded, knowing that no other words were needed. The queen began to protest. They had been riding since dawn, everyone was tired and cold, surely they should refresh themselves first, she pointed out. The dead would wait. She had said no more than that; Robert had looked at her, and her twin brother Jaime had taken her quietly by the arm, and she fell silent. Aly squeezed his arm softly before going to the queen, with her reluctance completely hidden, and offering to show her to the rooms set aside for them with Lorie still on her hip, as Oberyn led Robert out to the marble mausoleum that was built for his House, just outside of the Sandship.

After he had grabbed a lantern to see with, they went down into the crypts together, Oberyn and the king he scarcely recognized as his friend. The mausoleum went downwards below the earth for some time, with over a staircase of more than seven hundred steps, more levels having been dug as needed over the centuries. Each level had at least three generations of his family laid to rest on it. Oberyn led the way, trekking along the familiar path with ease.

"I trust you enjoyed the journey, Your Grace?" He inquired casually, wanting to distract himself from the discomfort he always felt in the place, as if his ancestors were judging him as he made his way to his family's resting places. Usually, he suspected that they were disappointed.

Robert chuckled at that. "Oh, most certainly, except for that bloody wheelhouse my damn wife insisted on bringing. Heat's as godsawful as I remember, but the people are the same."

Oberyn smirked at that. "I trust that my people made you feel welcome," he commented mischievously, recalling their visits to Dorne as young boys and the activities they'd participated in. Sarella had been conceived during one of those visits.

"Definitely," Robert agreed, laughing again.

Robert Baratheon had always been a man of huge appetites, a man who knew how to take his pleasures. Oberyn had been the same before the war and marrying Aly, and had the daughters to prove it. But time and life had matured him. He had never dared to get drunk again after he had lost his temper while drunk and hit Aly so hard she had nearly broken her cheekbone in their second year of marriage. Yet it appeared that Robert was still acting as if he were twenty, and Oberyn could not help but notice that it was taking a toll on the other man. Robert was breathing heavily by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, his face red in the lantern light as they stepped out into the darkness of the crypt.

"Your Grace," Oberyn said respectfully, putting aside his lightness for the sake of the circumstances. He swept the lantern in a wide semicircle. Shadows moved and lurched. Flickering light touched the stones underfoot and brushed against the eight sandstone pillars that kept the roof from falling down on top of them. Between the pillars, small portraits of the dead were painted above plaques with their names, namedays and death dates, as well as anything of note about their lives. The plaques themselves were all doors to the vaults containing the bones of his family, from his grandparents to his sister. "She is down at the end, with the rest of our family."

He led the way and Robert followed wordlessly. Their footsteps made tiny puffs of sand lift from the dirt-covered ground.

Oberyn stopped at last and lifted the oil lantern. "Here," he told his old friend.

Robert nodded silently, knelt, and bowed his head.

There were four graves, side by side.

First was Doran's tomb. Oberyn's brother had been twelve years' senior, the image of their father, and had ruled as Lord of Dorne for a mere three years between their uncle's death of a heart attack and Doran's murder. In life, Doran had been a cautious, pensive, and subtle man, prone to thinking long on the matters before him, weighing every word and every action with great care for the possible consequences. He had been a far better ruler than Oberyn would ever be, even for such a cruelly short amount of time. Even if he had not been raised for it, Oberyn knew that he would have the better choice. It still made Oberyn want to scream and rage whenever he thought of how his brother had died, forced to watch his wife and daughter be burned to death on Aerys' orders as he was strangled trying to reach them and save them.

He was interned near to his wife, Lady Mellario of Norvos. The depiction of his deceased goodsister had her cradling a featureless babe in arms, representing the child she had been carrying when she died. Oberyn always felt sick looking at it. The artist had done so without asking his input. Her death had not hurt as much as the others of his family, he had barely known his goodsister, having spent so long away in the Vale with Robert. But she had been his kin all the same, the only one able to make Doran's expression light up with happiness at the mere sight of her, and Oberyn had liked what he'd known of her very much. She had been a determined, independent woman, and a good Lady of Dorne, who had striven to do her best for her adopted kingdom in spite of her difficulties adjusting to the different culture. She had not deserved such a brutal fate.

Between them was a painfully small plaque. The mural showed a small girl, but six namedays old. Arianne had been but a child, slightly pudgy and small for her age with olive skin, dark eyes and a thick head of dark ringlets. She'd been a stubborn, lively little girl, similar to his Aliandra. She would have been a great lady, had she but received the chance.

On Doran's far side was the final vault, and it was that which they kneeled before. Elia, Oberyn's sister. She'd been a year his senior, and even in spite of him being fostered out to the Eyrie at eight, when she lived Oberyn had loved her more than anything else in the world save his daughters. As young children, before his uncle sent him to the Eyrie, they had been close as twins, though they had grown apart after he was sent away.

"She was more beautiful than that," Robert stated after a silence. His eyes lingered on the painting of Elia's face, as if he could somehow will her back to life. Finally he rose, made awkward by his weight. "Ah, damn it, Oberyn, did you have to bury her in a place like this?" His voice was hoarse with remembered grief. "She deserved more than a dark catacomb . . . "

"She was a Martell of Dorne," Oberyn replied quietly. He could never bring himself to speak above a whisper in this place. "Our family has been buried here since Nymeria and Mors built the Old Palace. This is her place."

"She should be on a hill somewhere, under a fruit tree, with the sun and clouds above her and the rain to wash her clean. She was as bright as the sun, she should be beneath it."

"I was the one who was with her when she died," Oberyn reminded him. "She wanted to come home, to rest beside the rest of our family."

He could hear her still at times, see the scene playing out in front of his eyes as if he had gone back in time to see it. Nighttime was even worse. On many occasions, Aly had woken him from a nightmare of that bloody scene, the worst he had ever laid eyes on, even taking the two wars he had fought into account.

"_Promise me you'll protect her,"_ she had cried, in a room that smelled of blood and flowers, her dark eyes wide and desperate. "_Promise me, Oberyn!"_ The fever had sapped her always-fragile strength and her voice had been faint as a whisper, but when he had given her his word to do as she had begged him, the fear had gone out of his sister's eyes. Oberyn remembered vividly the way she had smiled in relief at his words, how the tight grip of her fingers on his tunic had slackened as she gave up her hold on life, the way Wylla, the maid who had delivered his niece, had needed to lunge to grab Rhaenys before the babe could fall after her mother lost the ability to support her. He had lost his mind after that, throwing things and swearing, shaking her body and begging her to come back until at last he had come back to himself with Wylla cowering in the corner, holding a wailing babe and realized that he wasn't locked in a nightmare, she really was dead and never coming back.

He had failed her.

"I bring her flowers when I can," he said, voice strained. "Elia was... she always loved flowers." He never brought yellow poppies, however, for all they'd been her favourites. Those damn blossoms had ruined everything. If not for that damned crown...

The king touched her painted cheek, his fingers as gentle as if it were living flesh. "I vowed to kill Rhaegar for what he did to her."

"You did," Oberyn reminded him. "We both did."

"Only once," Robert replied bitterly.

They had come together at the ford of the Trident while the battle crashed around them, Robert with his warhammer and his great antlered helm, Oberyn in red Dornish armour wielding his spear, and the Silver Prince armoured all in black. On his breastplate was the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, wrought all in rubies that had flashed like fire in the sunlight. The waters of the Trident had run red around the hooves of their horses as they circled and clashed, again and again, until at last a crushing blow from Robert's hammer stove in Rhaegar's armoured chest, at the exact same time as Oberyn's spear had pierced the man's neck from behind. Later on, when Oberyn had come to after collapsing from the wounds he'd received in the battle, Rhaegar's body had lain limp in the stream as men of both armies had scrabbled in the swirling waters for rubies knocked free of his armour.

"In my dreams, I kill him every night," Robert admitted. "A thousand deaths will still be less than he deserves."

"No," Oberyn agreed with his old friend. "A million deaths would not be enough for what he did and caused to happen."

The damn Silver Prince had abandoned his wife mere weeks after she had nearly died to birth him his twin heirs, absconding with Oberyn's sister and setting a war in motion. He had ripped the realm apart with his lust for Elia, and so many had suffered for it. The only person that Oberyn loathed as much as Rhaegar was Aerys.

And though he did not like to acknowledge it, he resented his sister a bit for her own actions too. He hated that she had selfishly run away with a married father and caused their brother and his family to die. Oh, nobody could have predicted the terrible way that Aerys would react to his heir's disappearance. But Elia had to have realized that there would be grave consequences for her running off with the husband of a Magnara of the Winterlands, and on the way to her own wedding of all things!

Fifteen years had gone by, but Oberyn still failed to understand what in the Gods' names she had been thinking, if she had thought at all.

Robert nodded in acquiescence to his words. He rose to his feet, grunting with the effort of lifting his heavy bulk, and looked at the other portraits, shaking his head heavily. "Gods, it's painful for me to see these, I cannot guess how bad it must be for you. Poor little Arianne. I remember how small she was when we visited that time, the way she toddled after us and played in the fountain."

Oberyn nodded, feeling drawn and tired. Robert cast another long look at Elia's portrait and then turned away. "Let's leave this place," he sighed.

Oberyn gave a curt nod and turned to lead the way back out of the crypts. "Tell me about Jon," he said finally, after several moments of silence.

Robert shook his head. "I have never seen a man sicken so quickly. We gave a tourney on my son's nameday. If you had seen Jon then, you would have sworn he would live forever. A fortnight later he was dead. The sickness was like a fire in his gut. It burned right through him." He paused beside a pillar, before the tomb of a long-dead Princess of Dorne, a ruler from before the last Ruling Princess, Meria,'s death at the hands of Queen Visenya had forced her son Nymor to bend the knee to the dragons and cost them that title. "I loved that old man."

"We both did," Oberyn answered simply.

"Ah, Oberyn," Robert said, putting a massive arm around Oberyn's shoulders "I had planned to wait a few days to speak to you, but I see now that there's no need for it. Come, talk with me."

They started back up the steps again, having paused to talk of Jon, Robert keeping his arm around Oberyn's shoulder. "You must have wondered why I finally came south to Sunspear, after so long."

Oberyn had his suspicions, but he did not give them voice. "For the joy of my company, surely," he said lightly. "Nobody else could ever possibly compare."

"These are difficult times, Oberyn," Robert stated in reply, with uncharacteristic seriousness. "I need good men about me. Men I can trust, like I trusted Jon. He served as Lord of the Eyrie, as Warden of the East, as the Hand of the King. He will not be easy to replace."

"Elbert . . . " Oberyn began.

"Elbert will succeed to Wardenship of the East, the Vale, the Eyrie and all its incomes," Robert said brusquely. "No more. I still need somebody to be my Hand. He has already stated his intention to head back to the Vale as soon as he can. Things are unsettled there at the moment, apparently. Besides, I do not trust Elbert as much as I trust you. I don't trust anybody as much as you." Robert stopped them again, and grasped Oberyn by the elbow. "I have need of you, Oberyn."

Here it comes, he thought grimly. "You always have me, old friend," he replied. "You know that."

Robert scarcely seemed to hear him. "Those years we spent in the Eyrie . . . gods, those were good years. I want you at my side again, Oberyn. I want you in King's Landing." Robert looked off into the darkness, for a moment as melancholic as Aly often was.

"I swear to you, sitting on a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one. Laws are a tedious business and counting coppers is worse. And the people . . . there is no end of them. I sit on that damnable iron chair and listen to them complain until my mind is numb and my ass is raw. They all want something, money or land or justice. The lies they tell . . . and my lords and ladies are no better. I am surrounded by flatterers and fools. It can drive a man to madness, Oberyn. Half of them don't dare tell me the truth, and the other half can't find it. There are nights I wish we had lost at the Trident. Ah, no, not truly, but . . ."

"I understand," Oberyn stated softly. He had never wanted to be Lord of Dorne either. He'd never been meant for it. Without Aly, he'd have driven his country to the ground, reckless and uncertain as he'd been. Even when she had hated him, she had still stepped in to cover his back. She was more ruler of Dorne than he was, most days. He didn't want to contemplate on how much his people would have suffered from his initial fumbling attempts at being a ruler if not for her.

Robert looked at him. "I think you do. If so, you are the only one, my old friend." He smiled. "Lord Oberyn Nymeros Martell, I would name you the Hand of the King."

Oberyn tensed. "I'd make a terrible Hand, Your Grace," he responded. "Give that honour to somebody worthy of it."

Robert groaned with good-humoured impatience. "Stop with the damn 'Your Grace'ing me," he ordered. "You're my oldest and best friend, which is why I'm being such an ass and giving you the title. If I wanted to honour you, I'd leave you be. I am planning to make you run the kingdom and fight the wars while I eat and drink and wench myself into an early grave." He slapped his gut and grinned. "You know the saying, about the king and his Hand?"

Oberyn knew the saying, both the high and lowborn one. "Which one?" he drawled. "The polite one: what the king dreams, the Hand builds? Or else the one that we heard from that fisherman. How did it go again?"

"The king eats, and the Hand takes the shit." Robert replied, before throwing back his head and roaring out his mirth. The echoes rang through the darkness, and all around them the dead of Sunspear seemed to watch with cold and disapproving eyes. Oberyn could not bring himself to laugh with him. This was not a place for gaiety.

Finally the laughter dwindled and stopped. "Damn it, Oberyn," the king complained. "You might at least humour me with a smile. When'd you get so uptight, anyway?"

_When Jon sat me down and told me I was now Lord Paramount of Dorne, because my family had been had all been murdered by Aerys, _Oberyn thought. _When Elia died in my arms after I fought a war to try and save her. When I watched Aly scream and fling herself across the body of her dead sister, and then had to tell her that she was to be my wife on your orders, otherwise her remaining kin would be considered traitors to the Crown. When my second son died three hours after birth and I had to pry his body from my hysterical wife's arms because she was refusing to release him._

"Not sure," he shrugged instead of speaking any of his grim thoughts aloud. "I suppose that it happened somewhere in the past decade and a half. An unfortunate consequence of getting old, I suppose."

"Ah, don't go calling yourself old," Robert groaned. "I'm only a year younger than you, if you're old than so am I." Then he smirked and clapped a meaty hand on Oberyn's shoulder. "You helped me win this damnable throne, now help me hold it," he said, sounding like the Robert Oberyn had grown up with again. "We were meant to rule together. If Elia had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Aliandra shall join our houses, as Elia and I might once have done."

This offer did surprise him. "Lia is only two-and-ten." Not to mention Aly's reaction to having one of her children wed the child of a Lannister. Aly was usually the perfect wife to him, her dutiful nature not allowing her to be anything else, but she would probably go on a killing spree with her direwolf Crystal, if he agreed to allow their eldest daughter, or any of their children for that matter, to marry someone with Lannister blood. He wouldn't blame her for it, either. He did not like the thought of being linked to the lions either, even if it was his best friend's eldest son.

And that wasn't even taking into account Lia herself. His daughter was too wild and too much of a tomboy to be suited for the life of a queen. Lia did her best to be a lady, but she struggled with what his wife called the wolf's blood, unlike Mariah who was a model lady. She'd either go mad from being trapped, or else she would waste away trying to be something that she was not. If he had to wed her outside Dorne, he'd probably look for a husband in the Winterlands, where women had far more freedom. Being queen would destroy her.

Robert waved an impatient hand. "Old enough for betrothal. The marriage can wait a few years." The king smiled. "Now say yes, curse you."

"I have not the skills to be your Hand," Oberyn tried to say, only to be waved off.

"You've done a decent enough job with Dorne and being Warden of the South, haven't you?"

Oberyn grimaced. Originally, the Tyrells had held the title of Wardens of the South. As punishment for staying loyal to the dragons, Robert had stripped them of the title and given it to Oberyn instead. It was an honour he would rather have foregone.

"Dorne is among the smallest of the kingdoms, and the least-populated," Oberyn replied. "Much less work than running the whole of the realm. As for the Wardenship is merely ceremonial in peacetime, as you well know. And anyway, most of that is due to Aly."

Robert snorted at that. "Right, well if your wife runs your kingdom, then bring her with you and she can run the rest of the realm as well," he declared. "The two of us can have fun reliving the old days with some whores and Dornish red. Now, what's your answer?"

Oberyn hesitated, trying to figure out a way to refuse without angering his old friend and ruining the air between them for the rest of the visit. "These honours are all so unexpected," he finally stated. "May I have some time to think about it? I must consider some things.

Dorne's trade has been struggling of late, and Rickard is young still. I have to think about it before agreeing to leave. And as for the marriage, I promised my girls they would be allowed to give their opinions on potential matches. I don't want them miserable."

"Yes, yes, of course, sleep on it if you must." Robert reached over and wrapped his heavy arm around Oberyn's shoulders. "Just don't keep me waiting too long. I am not the most patient of men."

A chill washed over Oberyn as they finally left the mausoleum, as if somebody had just walked over his grave. It was a chill of foreboding, as if something terrible was going to happen.


	5. Nymeria I

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. ****The mention of the Arkenstarks are a shout out to (A) the Hobbit by J.R.R Tolkien and (B) The White Wolf Rises series by KingofWinter (seriously awesome series).**

**Thanks to my reviewers, keeping reading, enjoying and reviewing!**

**Chapter Three**

**Nymeria I**

_**Sunspear: February 8**__**th**__**, 298 AC**_

It wasn't often that Meria's bastardy affected her life. Her father had always doted on her, Obara and Sarella the same as he had her younger half-siblings. If her lady stepmother was bothered by their presence, she had never shown such. Quite the opposite in fact. She raised them alongside her own trueborn children and never once batted an eyelid when they addressed her as their mother or treated them any different than she did her children by birth. Most of the time, Meria almost completely forgot that she was not the trueborn daughter of Lord and Lady Martell.

The arrival of the court had changed things, and not in a good way. The day before yesterday, their parents had summoned them to their shared solar for a private discussion.

Mother's expression had been tight and she'd been stroking the tan fur of her beloved direwolf companion, Crystal, in a way that spoke strongly of her unhappiness. Father too had been frowning, and the opulent gifts that he had given them before the discussion, a new sheath for Obara's dagger, a new book for Sarella, and a lovely length of multi-coloured silk to make a new dress out of for Meria herself, had said he was feeling guilty about something he was about to do and wanted to soften them up before he informed them of whatever it was that he thought would bother them. That their stepmother seemed to have allowed the excess and unnecessary expense without objection in spite of the already lavish amount of coin being spent getting Sunspear up to scratch for the royal visit without a protest said that she agreed with him on the matter. That was a rare thing for the frugal Lady of Sunspear.

"My darling Snakelets," Father had begun after presenting them with the gifts and smiling over their exclamations of pleasure and thanks. They'd all realized he was bribing them, but that did not keep them from being happy to have the presents. "We need to discuss what will happen during the royal visit."

"What about it, Father?" Meria had inquired, confused. "We already know the proper protocol for occasions like this, Lady Vaith has made very sure of that."

Lady Myriame Vaith of House Blackwolf had been one of the Northrons who had come south with Meria's lady stepmother when she had wed her father. Several years after coming south, she had wed Lord Daeron Vaith of Vaith Hall, the Head of House Vaith and Lord of the Red Dunes who was twice her age and (at the time) heirless. Now, she was the mother of his five sons. She was also the Chief Governess for not just the Martell children, but every girl under the wardship of the Lord and Lady Paramount of Dorne.

The Martell children and their foster siblings having seven governesses from both Dorne and the Winterlands (four from Dorne, two from the North, including Lady Vaith and a septa from the Stormlands), instead of just a septa to oversee their education was something arranged by Lady Martell. The Lady of Sunspear was devoted to the Old Gods, and while she had acknowledged the necessity of her children and wards learning the Faith of the Seven, she had also had her children and stepchildren raised learning of her own religion also, and insisted on having governesses instead of just a septa to teach them. Meria had once overheard her saying to one of her ladies from the North that having a septa teach girls to be wives and mothers was the height of stupidity when septas had never experienced such things personally, something that Lady Whitewolf had agreed with fervently.

Meria herself had always been grateful for the whole arrangement, given the general attitude of followers of the Seven towards base born children. Many of their former septas had been dismissed from Sunspear by her stepmother due to them treating Meria or one of her siblings with disdain for their surname of Sand. It had increased her love for the woman who had raised her as if she had come from her womb.

In truth, Meria found much more comfort in the godswood and the Gods of the Forest, River and Trees than she ever had in the sept. Every time she stepped foot in the godswood, she felt as if the Old Gods were watching her, hearing her. But she had never felt as if the Seven were watching over her, even in the sept itself.

And she certainly preferred the views of the First Men in regards to bastards to the Seven's claims that natural children were born of lust and greed and inherently evil due to that.

The First Men had a very different belief in regards to bastards. To them, everybody was born into their position in life due to the will of the gods. That included bastards. When she was a child her stepmother had once suggested to Meria, comforting her after a cruel comment from a visitor, that the gods had probably had her born outside of the marriage bed because she had some task to fulfil for them, as everyone did. A task that she would need the resources of House Martell for, but one that meant she needed to be less hampered by the restrictions placed on the lives of highborn ladies.

Now she was older, Meria doubted that a great deal. What important task would she or her siblings ever need to do? But it was still a comfort on the occasions that her bastardy and lack of knowledge over her birth mother bothered her.

"We know that, darling," Mother had spoken up in response to Meria's confusion. It said a great deal as to her unhappiness that a few discreet traces of upset could be found in her features, when she had made an artform out of keeping negative emotions away from her face. "But, well," she hesitated, exchanging a glance with Father.

"You know, girls, how most people think of bastards," he said gently.

Sarella, always the cleverest of them all, cut him off. Her voice was stiff, as was her expression, in order as to hide her hurt. "You think that the royal family would be offended by our presence," she stated curtly. "You want us out of their sight."

Father winced and Mother's lips seemed to disappear. Sensing her mistress' unhappiness, Crystal bristled slightly, though she relaxed again under Mother's soothing strokes.

"I am so very sorry, my girls," Father said in response, voice and face filled with guilt and apology. "I truly am. You know that you are all my pride and joy, along with your other siblings. But the queen is an imperious woman, with little tolerance for things she dislikes or looks down upon. Unfortunately, that includes base born children."

"So what do you wish for us to do then, Father?" Obara asked, her own face blank.

Mother sighed heavily, reaching out to stroke Meria's hair gently. "You will all be in the back when they arrive," she explained softly, silver-grey eyes full of sorrow and regret. "And sit at the lower tables during the feast. We are both so very sorry, girls. It's only for a little while. Just until the visit is over, and they shan't stay long, I am sure."

So, instead of being seated up at the high table with her family like usual, Meria was seated at the far end of the hall. At first she had been stung, but now she was appreciative of the arrangement. From the look of things, it did not appear as if sitting at the high table was anything that anybody would want to do that night.

Her stepmother had gone all out with the welcoming feast. What seemed like a thousand different banners covered the sandstone walls of the castle. As always there was the sun-and-spear of House Martell, but there was also the king's crowned stag, the lion of Lannister and more from almost every kingdom (though there was not a single banner to represent any Winterlander house, Meria noted. Not even one direwolf banner for her stepmother's maiden house). Orange cloths embroidered with the sun-in-spears symbols of House Martell and trimmed with gold rope-like tassels covered the tables, and they were using gold cutlery and dishes that had been polished so much they literally shone. A group of musicians were playing on a small stage in the corner, though it was hard to hear with all of the people in the hall.

Looking up at the high table, Meria was sincerely grateful that she didn't have to endure the tension at it. Even from her seat on the other side of the smoky hall, she could pick up on it.

The king, who had been clearly in his cups even before the feast had begun four hours' past, had a giggling serving girl on his lap and was fondling her, ignoring the sharp glares being shot at him by his wife in favour of feeling the girl up and speaking to Meria's father. The youngest Sand Snake expected, from the look on her stepmother's face, that the maid would find herself being sent to another position soon enough if she didn't find a way to escape the king's attentions. The Lady of Sunspear did not tolerate any of her servants neglecting their duties under her roof. That the maid could hardly refuse the king would probably save her from losing her employment entirely, but the fact that the girl was laughing would not help her cause, however.

Lady Martell and the queen were mostly ignoring one another, with her stepmother more focused on feeding little Loreza. However, every so often they exchanged stilted comments with one another. Thinking of Mother's utter hatred for everybody to do with the Lannisters, Meria seriously wondered if her stepmother had decided that dooming her soul by breaking guest right would be worth it and had poisoned the royals' food or drink. The glances that her father was occasionally sending in his wife's direction that said he probably feared the same.

Of Meria's trueborn siblings, Rickard, the girls and Arron each had a royal child at their side.

Princess Myrcella had flushed cheeks and was looking up at Rickard with shining eyes. Another girl lost to his charm. Her stepmother had been speaking of Rickard being betrothed recently, but Meria could not picture it. Her brother was far too fond of women to constrain himself to just the one, yet the honour code instilled in them by their father meant that, on marriage, Rickard would have to do just that. Meria had no doubt that he would try to avoid it for as long as possible, purely so he was not 'chained down', as he had once referred to it.

Arron was speaking happily with young Prince Tommen, a few moons older than him. Dorren was ignoring everybody in favour of staring off into the distance, lost in thought as he often was. Her stepmother and the Northrons often said that he was probably a greenseer, and Meria knew that Lady Martell often spoke of sending him North to foster in the North where they would be better able to guide him, though Father continued to refuse regardless of his wife's pleas. Meria did not think he really believed in greensight at all. He was not a very devout man, but he was still faithful to the Seven, in spite of ordering a godswood be planted for his wife in their first year of marriage. Meria did not think he had ever set foot in it, as his wife had never gone within the Sept of Sunspear.

The girls were sitting on either side of the Crown Prince, Lia looking bored to tears and Mariah leaning in and looking at the boy with shining eyes. The royal prince was clearly trying to charm them both, but he was only succeeding with Mariah. Lia was probably calculating the exact amount of time she had to remain before she could escape to the stables, or at least her bedchamber. Sweet Mariah, however, was too busy gazing in amazement at the Crown Prince to recall her mother's many reminders that just because somebody looked handsome, didn't mean they were. The prince himself had earned Meria's disdain with his contemptuous look around the hall, and the muttered comments she'd overheard him make in regards to her stepmother and the Northrons in the courtyard earlier. Who did the spoilt brat think he was, to cast aspersions on her stepmother's loyalty and character?

Crown Prince he may be, but he had no right to call her mother a frigid Northron whore, or accuse her of being a traitor solely because her family had fought on the royalist side in a war that had been fought over a decade past. What else could they have done, when the majority of the Starks had been in the hands of the Mad King, who'd have had no problems at all burning them alive if he had thought that they had turned against him?

Meria glanced around. Obara had disappeared off to join some squires and was taking advantage of their parents' lack of attention in order to be unladylike and have an arm-wrestling contest with a boy Meria didn't recognize, and Sarella had excused herself after the second course in order to go to the library and read her new book. The rest of her family were all busy with the royals.

Nobody would notice if she left, so she slipped away from her table as discreetly as she could, and headed for the doors.

She was beside the wall that kept people from falling off the edge of the castle grounds into the ocean below when she spotted Tyrion Lannister, sitting precariously on the edge of the wall and swinging his feet like a child.

She paused, staring at him in surprise. Feeling her gaze, he turned his head away from the ocean and towards her. "Ah, hello there girl," he greeted her in a cheery tone of voice.

"Hello, my lord," Meria replied slowly, eyeing him warily. "You really ought not to sit there, you know," she warned him. "It is a long fall. Should you not be at the feast?"

"Too hot, too noisy, and I'd drunk too much wine," the dwarf told her in response. "I learned long ago that it is considered rude to vomit on your brother. And I suppose that you're right about sitting here."

"Do you need me to fetch a ladder?" Meria inquired, though she supposed that he was probably able to get down if he could get up.

He scoffed at her question, waving her off. "Oh, bleed that," the little man said. He pushed himself off the ledge into empty air. Meria gasped, covering her mouth with her hands, then watched with awe as Tyrion Lannister spun around in a tight ball, landed lightly on his hands, then vaulted backward onto his legs.

"That was impressive," she complimented him.

He grinned at her. "Ah, I am a dwarf," he replied dismissively. "Born to preform."

"The Arkenstarks of Smaug's Hold are all dwarves," Meria pointed out. "And they are some of the best warriors in the Winterlands."

Something flashed across his expression, but it happened too quickly for her to recognize what it was.

"True," he agreed, some of his cheer gone. He quickly went on with the conversation. "You're one of Martell's bastards, are you not?"

Meria tensed. The people of Sunspear never said a word against her or her elder sisters, at least not in her hearing, and her family was wonderful. But her experience with outsiders tended to be negative, with them disdaining herself, Obara and Sarella for being born out of wedlock.

"I am, yes," she replied stiffly. "The youngest, Nymeria Sand."

"Let me give you some counsel, bastard," Lannister said. "Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you."

Meria lifted her chin defiantly, hiding her discomfort and uncertainty as best she could. "I need no armour, my lord," she replied curtly. "I am skilled enough with a knife to protect myself that way. Good eve."

With that, she strode away, and made her way to her destination, a part of the gardens rarely used by anybody. It was the perfect place for a secret meeting.

Perros was waiting for her on what she privately thought of as their bench, underneath a blood orange tree. He rose when she appeared, grinning nervously at her. It was odd. They'd had secret meetings quite a few times, but never in the dark like this. She shuddered to imagine her parents' reactions to learning of this. Her father would murder Perros, and she'd probably be sent to a sept or something.

"I didn't know if you'd manage to get away," he said as she joined him.

She shrugged in a gesture that would have infuriated her stepmother and governesses, smiling at him coyly. "I have my ways," she stated teasingly, feeling her eyes sparkle.

He nodded and swallowed. "I have to talk to you about something," he blurted out suddenly.

Meria blinked, confused and a bit worried about his strangeness. "Of course, you can speak to me about anything," she replied earnestly.

He swallowed again, then reached for her hand and led her to sit on the bench. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She had a growing suspicion as to what he was doing, but she didn't want to hope.

Instead of sitting beside her like usual, Perros knelt before her, clutching both of her hands in his own. He looked up at her, and the look he wore made her breath catch, as it often did. It seemed to her that he looked at her as if she were the Maiden incarnate. Meria often felt plain when compared to Sarella's exotic Summer Islander looks or her younger sisters' Valyrian-tinted beauty, inherited from her stepmother. But when Perros looked at her, she felt as if she were Venus, the Lysene Goddess of Beauty.

"Meria," Perros began. "You are-, Oh gods, how do I put perfection into words? You're the most amazing person I know, Meria. So beautiful, kind and clever. I cannot picture any other woman living up to you. You may be a Sand, but I know that you still deserve far more than me, heir to Blackmont or not. But I'm selfish and I love you. I love you far too much not to take advantage of the fact that I noticed you first, before anybody else can see you.

So, I have to ask. Well, plead actually. If you want me to beg, I will. Will you, Nymeria Sand of House Martell, do me the honour of marrying me?"

Meria had realized what was going on soon into his babbling speech, and yet she was still stunned. "Yes," she breathed. "Yes, yes, yesyes, yes!"

He laughed in delight, the both of them rising and meeting each other's eyes, expressions filled with disbelieving amazement and delight.

"Yes?" he confirmed with a grin that stretched from ear-to-ear.

"Yes!" she repeated. He lifted her up and swung her around.

"I'll talk to your father on the morrow then," he breathed after setting her back down.

"I do not think I have ever been happier," Meria said, feeling as if she was on cloud nine, as her stepmother would say.

"I love you," Perros told her, as he had done a dozen times before since they'd first kissed on her fourteenth nameday.

"And I love you back," she answered, as naturally as she had that day.


	6. Alysanne II

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**I'm so glad that everyone is liking this so far. Please keep reading, enjoying and reviewing! The more reviews I get, the more inspired I am to work on my stories!**

**Chapter Four**

**Alysanne II**

_**Sunspear: February 8**__**th**__**, 298 AC**_

Out of the whole of Sunspear, Aly's rooms were the coolest. But even the coolest rooms in the Sandship were still too warm for Aly. She was a Martell by name, but a Stark by blood, and ice ran through her veins.

For several years, the heat of Dorne had caused her physical malady, she had struggled so much to cope. It was the same for her loyal Northron ladies and the Stark guards who had all come south with her. But though she had offered to help them return to the familiar and comforting coldness of their homeland, all of them were far too devoted to her family to leave her alone in what they had all considered to be enemy territory. Aly loved them all the more for that.

After they finished, Oberyn rolled off of her and left the bed, atypical of him. He found her chambers too cold, and usually he preferred to hold her close for warmth after they lay together. She propped herself up on her elbows, watching silently as he wandered over to the open window and shut it, stopping the cool air of the desert night entering. Aly almost always kept her window open at night, savouring the brisk breeze that reminded her of the North.

He stayed facing away from her, silent and obviously troubled. Whatever was bothering him, it had upset him enough that he was past the point of pacing and into stillness, which was never good. Vipers were dangerous when they hissed and lashed their tails, but it was when they were still that they were to be feared the most.

_What a surprise,_ she thought with an acidic sarcasm that was uncharacteristic of her. _The Usurper comes to my home, eats my bread and salt, and upsets everybody in the castle by acting like the inconsiderate brute that he is. _

Well, not everyone was upset, but enough were off-footed by the visit that Aly felt the whole thing far more trouble than it was worth. That had not stopped her pulling out all of the stops. The Usurper and his lions would have no reason to look down on her or her marital House. Not if she had anything to say about it.

She sighed and rose from the bed as well, ignoring the ache left in her stomach and thighs after the way he had frantically and repeatedly taken her. Her wrists and elbows ached from his tight grip, and faint bruises were already beginning to form from his tight hold on her. Another sign of his distress. He was only ever so harsh when he was using her body to distract himself from whatever woe was haunting him. Tonight had been particularly intense, to the point that she doubted her ability to sit down properly on the morrow.

She guessed that his war memories had been stirred up by Robert's arrival. It was the only thing that bothered him so much.

She briefly wondered if she would end up with child again, as she had twice from him acting so. He'd certainly been doing his best to put another babe in her at any rate and not just tonight. She was but thirty-two, still in her childbearing years, and her next moons' blood was not due for another week or so, meaning she was in the right state for his seed to quicken within her again. She hoped so, in truth. Loreza was four now and Aly missed having a babe at her breast. Then she pushed that thought away. If she was to bear another child for her husband, the gods would decide, nobody else. Certainly not a mortal such as she.

She came to his side and wrapped herself around his arm quietly. He pulled her against his muscled chest, giving her a brief kiss atop her sweaty curls before drawing away slightly.

"He asked you to be his Hand, then," she stated, not needing an answer, though he gave one anyway.

"Aye, as we had expected."

"Will you accept?" she kept her voice as even as she could, even as her stomach churned at the thought of her husband going to that cursed place.

Oberyn hesitated. "I don't know," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. Strands of silver had started appearing in it recently, Aly had noticed, though she had not said so. Oberyn was a vain man. He'd not appreciate her informing him that he was turning grey, wrinkles from both stress and laughter appearing around his eyes and mouth, though she knew he too had spotted them.

Aly was unhappy with his answer. She'd much prefer him to state immediately that he had no intention of going to a place filled with murderous lions and treachery, but she supposed that 'not sure' was better than 'yes'. Hopefully she could still coax him into refusing the offer. But once Oberyn had decided something, almost nothing could make him change his mind. Certainly not the opinions of his wife.

"Why not?" she asked evenly.

He sighed heavily, looking burdened beyond his thirty-seven years. She kissed his chest, leaning against him and tilting her head back to look at him. His eyes were distant and his brows furrowed.

"He is my oldest friend, he needs help," Oberyn said. "I feel that I ought to give it to him."

"You have a duty to Dorne and to your family that outweighs any debts to a friend," Aly pointed out. "If he is truly your friend, then surely he will understand." She tried to hide her scepticism over that from him.

In truth, she did not think he owed Robert anything at all. If anything, given the key part Dorne's army had played in the Rebellion, then Robert owed Oberyn, for being such an integral part of him gaining the Iron Throne. Oberyn would not share her opinion, however, so she said nothing of it.

"That is not all," Oberyn went on reluctantly. "Robert has suggested a betrothal between Lia and his son, Joffrey."

Aly went rigid and pulled away from him, feeling her expression turn colder than the ice-covered landscape her family had ruled for so long. "Over my dead body," she hissed in utter rage, clenching her fists so tightly she felt blood well up from the indents she made. Her daughter, wed the grandson of the man who'd had Lya and her twins murdered? The son of the puterelle who had waded through her twin's blood in order to steal her crown? Aly would prefer her daughter to be dead than marry a relative of the Lannisters.

Oberyn hastily grabbed hold of her arms lightly, tugging her to him again and ignoring her attempts to pull away and demand that he tell her that he had refused.

"I have not agreed yet, Aly, I promise," he insisted earnestly. "But these are high honours. How can I refuse both of them without offending the king?"

"I thought he was your dearest friend," she scoffed back. "How much faith do you have in his love for you, if you are reluctant to tempt his wrath?"

Oberyn's expression darkened in frustration, and he began to speak. But whatever he intended to say was cut off by an urgent knocking. They turned to the door, surprised by the interruption. It was verging on the hour of the wolf. What would have somebody interrupt them so late at night? Surely, there was an emergency. Instantly, Aly had the panicked thought that the lions had attacked one of her children.

"A minute!" Aly called, grabbing her dressing gown and tugging it on hastily to cover herself while Oberyn quickly pulled on the breeches he had discarded carelessly on the floor when they'd returned to their bedchamber after the welcoming feast and he had dragged her to the bed.

Once they were no longer nude, Oberyn strode over to the door and tugged it open. "What in the Gods' names?" he barked at Joss Hood, the guard on duty in their room for the night. Then he did a double-take at the sight of another man at Joss' side. "Elbert? What-?"

"Oberyn, Lady Martell, forgive the intrusion and time," Lord Elbert Arryn, the new Lord of the Eyrie, cut in. Aly tied the sash at her waist in a knot and padded over to the door, keeping Oberyn between her and the men in the hall to preserve her modesty. Her calm returned. This was still an alarming situation, but if her children had been harmed, it would not be the Lord of the Vale who came to alert them.

"We must speak in private," the Valeman informed Oberyn in a low voice, who's back was tense and uneasy. "It is most urgent."

"Very well," Oberyn consented after a moment. "Come inside."

"My sincerest thanks, my friend," the man replied grimly, entering the room. Oberyn paused long enough to instruct Joss to say nought of the visit and claim that he was asleep with Aly should anybody else come looking for one of them, before snapping the door closed again.

"What is going on, Elbert?" Oberyn demanded as soon as the door was closed. "You have us called from our bed at the hour of the wolf, demanding secrecy and as good as shoving your way into my wife's bedchamber! What is this madness?"

"This is not a conversation for your lady wife's ears, Oberyn," Lord Arryn whispered, casting her a furtive look.

"Aly will not reveal my secrets," Oberyn responded simply. "She is my wife, and loyal to me. Nor is she too delicate to hear of sensitive matters. I trust her with everything."

Aly stayed silent, noticing the wary look Lord Arryn shot her. She maintained a demure demeanour, trying to assure him of the truth of Oberyn's words. They were not _un_true, after all. She was loyal to her lord husband. She just had loyalty to her maiden family also, and sent her brother any information she gleaned from being the wife of the Usurper's dearest friend. If Oberyn didn't want her to do such, then he should have said so, or else not given her so much access to his correspondence. She had never hidden her actions from him after all. It was not her fault if he had never noticed her copying his letters from the Usurper and Lord Arryn into the Old Tongue and sending them to Ned.

"Very well," Lord Arryn gave in. Apparently, his desire to speak to Oberyn over whatever alarmed him was stronger than his distrust of her.

Briefly, Aly wondered if it was the fact that she was a female that made him wary, or if it was that she was from a loyalist family. Given the general opinions of the south, she suspected that it was probably the former. Southron men did not typically think that women had the ability to think without being told how to by the men in their life, let alone have the ability and willpower to be a spy.

It would make things so much easier when she wrote the details of this conversation to Ned.

"It is about Uncle Jon, and his death," Lord Arryn informed Oberyn, ignoring her now. Oberyn frowned.

"What do you mean?" he demanded, suspicion flaring in his eyes. "Get to the point, Elbert. You know I have little patience for these games."

"I think he was murdered," Lord Arryn revealed. Aly bit her tongue to suppress the gasp that nearly escaped, feeling her eyes go wide. "Poisoned."

Oberyn did not hide his own shocked reaction, letting out a sharp hiss. "What?" he bit out. "What proof do you have? Poisoned by whom, and why?"

The Lord of the Eyrie began pacing, hands clasped behind his back. "Uncle was investigating something," he told Oberyn. "Treason, high up and difficult to both prove and touch. In spite of calling me to the capital over the whole matter, he refused to tell me any details, but he informed me that he would soon have enough evidence to go before the King. The next day, he fell gravely ill, and was dead within hours. From as healthy a man his age could be, to dead, within a day."

"But Pycelle is the Grand Maester, with an expertise in poisons," Oberyn objected. "Surely if Jon was poisoned then he would real-"

Aly bit her lip to keep from telling her husband what Pycelle was like, not wanting Lord Arryn to insist on having her sent away. As it turned out, she didn't have to, because Arryn did it for her.

"Pycelle is in the queen's pocket, as is most of the Red Keep," Lord Arryn interrupted. "I think that he was involved also. He is the one who gave Uncle Jon milk of the poppy and had uncle's personal maester, Coleman, sent away. I tell you Oberyn, my uncle was murdered!"

Oberyn began pacing in a tight circle. "Have you told Robert?" he asked.

Arryn shook his head. "'Tis not so simple, Oberyn," he sighed, clearly frustrated. "Robert will act rashly, and I cannot accuse them without proof. If I am wrong-"

"I thought you said that you didn't know who did it," Oberyn interrupted his friend. Worry wrinkled his brow as he passed her, and he briefly reached out to stroke her arm, more for his own comfort than hers, she suspected.

"Uncle would not say whom he was investigating, or why," the new Warden of the East acknowledged. "But I am sure it was them. The Lannisters."

Aly clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing in triumph. The irony, that the marriage arranged by Jon Arryn between Cersei and the Usurper had resulted in his death was sweet. She was unsurprised by the actions, these were Lannisters after all, but Oberyn looked utterly stunned.

Gods bless her husband, he was too honourable for his own good. She wished she could make him realize that only a small handful of people would ever follow his code. Think the worst of people, and you would almost never be surprised by them.

"You would accuse the queen's family of treason?" Oberyn hissed, incredulous.

Lord Arryn nodded, expression grave and grim, jaw tight. "Aye, it is the only think that makes sense. As I said, Uncle spoke of untouchable treason, and Pycelle is the queen's man through-and-through. I think that Uncle Jon learned of something, some treason committed by the queen or one of her immediate family, and he was searching for evidence to expose it. But they learned what he was doing, and murdered him before he got the chance."

Oberyn's eyes blazed with anger. "Why not tell Robert?" he asked at last. "'Tis obvious that he despises his wife, after all. Surely you could convince him of the truth."

The other man shook his blonde head, running a hand through his hair. "Lannister men litter the capital," he admitted. "The Iron Throne owes a lot of money to the West, though I am unsure exactly as to how much. The queen is the mother of Robert's only legitimate children and has a strong support base due to her father's influence. The Crown is practically in thrall to the West."

Oberyn shook his head in denial, but didn't deny it. "What do you wish me to do, then?" he asked finally, voice heavy.

Lord Arryn hesitated, looking away. "The Hand of the King has great power, my old friend," he stated. Aly felt any joy at the news of the instability of the Usurper's reign disappear in a flash, replaced by a sick twisting in her stomach.

"Power to find the truth of my uncle's death," the man continued. "to bring his killers to the king's justice. You and Uncle Jon were always been the only people that Robert would listen to. Now, you are the only one."

Oberyn hesitated, looking doubtful. She begged the gods that he wouldn't listen, even as she knew what he would choose. He was too loyal, too honourable. He'd not be able to sit back and do nothing as his foster father's killer walked free, threatening his oldest friend.

"You would make a better Hand than I," Oberyn stated, a weak protest.

Lord Arryn grimaced. "I must return to the Vale to sort things out now I am the official Lord," he sighed. "I should have gone earlier, but I dared not risk entrusting the task of telling you all of this to a messenger. I sent my family away already. I promise, as soon as I can I will return to aid you, but there is trouble. My bannermen are pressing for me to name Denys' son, Artys, as my heir instead of my son. Robar is sickly and young, whilst Artys is strong and nearly of age, betrothed to Ysilla Royce. And he may have spent these past years in the capital, but Uncle was Lord for the entire lives of many in the Vale. They are unsettled by his sudden death, and everything is in upheaval. I need to sort things out before I can go to the capital to help."

"Aye," Oberyn looked at her at last. She wanted to sink to her knees and plead with him not to go through with the resolve she could see in his eyes. But Aly was a Stark, a descendant of the Kings of the Winter who had ruled the harshest lands in Westeros for eight millennia, the only people who had been able to repel the dragons and keep them at bay. Starks never pleaded for anything. She evened out her expression and gave a faint nod, trying to communicate her understanding to him. Much as she hated it, she knew that in his position, she would do the same.

"I will tell Robert that I accept the post on the morrow, then," Oberyn sighed.

Lord Arryn sighed in relief, shoulders slumping. Aly longed to grab his sword and shove it through his chest for the pain and danger he was bringing on her family. She could feel blood welling from the indents formed by her nails digging into the fleshy part of her palms from her clenched fists.

"Thank you Oberyn," he said hoarsely.

"Aye," Oberyn nodded curtly. "Is there is more for you to tell me of, or are we done?"

Lord Arryn hesitated again, then spoke. "I know that Robert suggested a betrothal between the crown prince and your daughter," he stated slowly.

"Aye, but I was of a mind to refuse," Oberyn answered. "I suppose that I must accept now, to keep away any suspicion."

Aly tensed at that, but managed to suppress the urge to protest. She was startled when Lord Arryn shook his head urgently and grasped Oberyn's arm, looking deathly serious.

"If you have any care at all for your daughter's safety, Oberyn, refuse," he urged him seriously.

"Why?" Oberyn inquired, looking startled. "I admit the boy seemed a bit arrogant at the feast but he is Robert's son. Why-"

"Uncle was good at covering the boy's problems up," Lord Arryn murmured. "But that boy- The younger two are sweet children. Mayhaps you could suggest his daughter for your eldest boy instead. But don't let the boy near your girl Oberyn. He mutilated a cat at five, he torments his siblings physically and emotionally, thinks that being Crown Prince means that he is a god. Come up with an excuse, but don't let her be wed to Prince Joffrey. Not if you wish her to be safe."

Oberyn looked deeply disturbed at that, but nodded stonily. "My thanks for the warning," he murmured.

"Aye, any time my old friend," Lord Arryn replied, stepping back so the men could bow to one another before he turned and left without a word to Aly, something that relieved her. She'd not have been able to keep herself from slapping him if he had addressed her.

She made her way to Oberyn, and he pulled her into his embrace.

"I must do this, my love," he murmured to her.

"I know," she acknowledged. "But do not ask me to be pleased about it." He nodded, and they spent several moments quiet, each of them mulling over the thoughts swirling through their minds. Aly broke the silence first, thinking of the practicalities.

"What of the children, then?" she asked. "I would prefer if they should stay here, where 'tis safe. But it would likely be suspicious if you bring none of them."

She pursed her lips, longing to insist they all stay safe at home and at the same time knowing the foolishness of such a wish. Her children were summer children, oblivious to the harsh reality of life. She had tried to educate them, but at the same time her maternal instincts demanded that she shield them. She could not say whether she had succeeded in either goal.

Oberyn pursed his lips, frowning. "Rickard must remain here, to learn to rule," he stated. He glanced at her. "You ought to stay, to help guide him."

She shook her head immediately at that, spine going rigid in case she had to argue with him. "He has your cousin, the maesters, Ricasso and so many others for guidance," she pointed out. "The capital is a cesspit, you know that. One that I am well experienced with living in. You are not made for politics, my love, you shall require my help and you know it. Besides, I still have friends in the Red Keep from when I served Queen Rhaella and my sister. I can learn what they know."

He sighed and gave in, proving her suspicions that he had not truly wanted her to remain behind. "Are you certain?" he asked.

She inhaled deeply, refusing to think of the things she had seen Aerys do, or of her sister, of Barbrey and the children. Of Ben, only thirteen namedays and also killed in the damned Sack. Gods, how she loathed that city. "I am."

"Alright," he consented. "I cannot pretend that your advice and presence will not be a comfort. As for the others, Loreza is too young to come," he stated firmly. She nodded in agreement, even if the thought of being so far from her youngest babe for an unknown amount of time made her heart ache. She would be safe in Sunspear, at the least.

Then it registered that he had not spoken of their other children, and her stomach twisted into knots. "And the others?" she tried to hide the quaver in her voice.

Oberyn pursed his lips and looked out the window again. "All of them will come with us," he decided at last. "'Twill do them good to see the world outside of Sunspear, and nobody will think to be suspicious of our motives if we bring our children with us."

She winced. "Arron is only six," she protested. "Too young to go to a place such as that. It will not be safe for him. Or for the others, for that matter."

"Arron is only a year and a half younger than I was when I was fostered out to the Eyrie," he pointed out in response. "And they will be safe. We will be with them, along with the guards that we bring."

"You going to the Eyrie was different," she retorted. "The Eyrie was _safe_. The capital is a pit of lions. And to bring the girls when we are refusing a betrothal-"

"They are coming, Aly," he stated firmly, cutting her off. "I have made up my mind, do not test my patience anymore tonight."

She reluctantly bowed her head in acceptance, knowing from experience when she could push and when she had to submit to her husband's will. At least they'd be under her eye, she tried to comfort herself, though the worry and fear for them remained. She would have to make arrangements to ensure that they could flee quickly if needs be.

If only Lya had had such arrangements in place. Maybe she had, but they had been unable to go through with them. Though Aly could not picture her sister ever fleeing and thus abandoned the people she was responsible for, she _was_ able to imagine her sending the children and Benjen away to safety. They said that Barbrey had been trying to hide the children, but Aly had always thought it more likely that she was trying to escape with them, and was caught before she could get to any of the passageways that they knew of.

"Speaking of the girls, it seems that I need an excuse to refuse the betrothal," Oberyn muttered, running a hand through his curls. "I wonder what Elbert meant about Joffrey."

"That is simple," Aly assured him. "There have been no marriages or betrothals between the Martells and our vassals since your grandparents wed. Your uncle wed a Crownlander lady, your mother was wed to a Westerman and your brother and cousin both married Free City women. Your sister was to be Lady Paramount of the Stormlands and you are married to myself, a Northron. You will tell him that the bannermen are restless at being continuously passed over. Our children must marry into Dornish houses in order to maintain their loyalty. It is hardly untrue, after all. The houses will be dissatisfied to be overlooked in favour of outsiders for the third generation in a row."

He considered that a moment before agreeing. "Aye, that should work," he stated. "Though as Elbert said, we may have to compromise and suggest that Rickard wed the princess instead."

She grimaced but nodded. Although the thought of any of her children wedding a lion made her feel ill, at least the younger two seemed sweet enough. Prince Joffrey, however, made her uneasy. He had a glint in his eyes that sent shivers down her spine due to how much it resembled Aerys. She did not know how it reminded her of King Scab, but anything linking the pair was disturbing. Lord Elbert's warning only increased her fear.

"And the Sand Snakes?" she inquired then. "Will we bring them also?"

"We will bring Sarella," he finally said. "Whilst Meria and Obara stay here."

"Meria might be better coming with us," Aly pointed out. "It would do her good to see the world outside Dorne."

"No," he stated decisively, his mind clearly made up on the matter. "Meria stays at home with Rickard, Obara and Lorie, the rest shall accompany us. On the morrow, I will speak with Robert. You can begin making arrangements."

"Very well," she assented reluctantly. For all she argued in favour of Meria coming, she dearly wished that her husband would have agreed to leave all of their children behind, in spite of the pain of being away from them. She hated the thought of her children being anywhere near those golden-haired monsters, and as far she was concerned Obara, Sarella and Meria were just as much her daughters as Lia, Mariah and Loreza all were, even if they had not been borne from her womb. But Oberyn's mind was made up on the matter, and she had no choice but to give into his wishes, as was her duty as his wife.

That did not mean she had to like it, though.

They returned to bed, and Oberyn fell asleep easily enough in spite of it all, but Aly could not manage to follow his actions and go to sleep. She tossed and turned until the time came to rise and get ready for the day, dread pressing in on her.

She had a terrible feeling about all of this.


	7. Aliandra I

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**Chapter Five**

**Aliandra I**

_**Sunspear: February 9**__**th**__**, 298 AC**_

Lia huffed impatiently as she glared resentfully at the stitching she was doing. It was crooked again. Lady Vaith had assigned her to practice sewing the sun-and-spear of House Martell, but she simply couldn't manage it. The centre of the sun looked more like it was an egg, the rays were a complete mess, and she hadn't even started on the spear yet, but she knew that too would be a wreck in some way. Stitching had always been difficult for her, and she found it dreadfully boring.

She shot a glance at her younger sister, noting bitterly that Mariah's stitches were perfect. Her sister, despite being two years Lia's junior, was far better at being a lady than Lia had ever, and probably would ever, be. Mariah could sew expertly, dance with grace and she sang like a siren from the stories. She played the high harp and the recorder. Worst of all, even at her young age she was beautiful, with Salty Dornish colouring and their mother's delicate Valyrian features. Her breasts had started to come in already, and she had a perfect hourglass figure.

Lia was the complete opposite of her younger sister. She was slender with a flat chest and a banana figure. Her Rhoynar curls were always getting tangled and she often had evidence of her frequent riding somewhere, whether it was some horse hair on her clothes or hay in her hair. And she was not good at ladylike things. Sewing was always a disaster, and though she could dance well enough, her musical talent was non-existent in every possible way. The only thing she did better than Mariah was running a household. Mari found numbers and such dreadfully dull, and often neglected her lessons on them in favour of her other skills. But even then, she could still manage enough for their mother to consider it acceptable.

Lia truly did try to be a good lady and make her parents proud, but she could never quite manage it. Not like Mariah could.

Lady Vaith was checking over Princess Myrcella's work with a keen eye. "Well, Princess, this is quite well done," she stated. "But I think you ought to redo the crown. It is a bit too crooked, and appears a bit more like a hat."

Lady Rosamund, the princess' cousin and companion, who was so alike to her in looks it was as if you were seeing double when they stood side-by-side, spoke up indignantly. "Princess Myrcella's work is excellent!" she declared. "You cannot speak to her like that!"

Lady Vaith raised an eyebrow at the girl, pursing her lips in disapproval, whilst the princess flushed in embarrassment. "Speak to her in what manner?" she inquired coolly. "I am in charge of teaching every girl in this room, counting yourself and the princess. If I were to gloss over any problems that I saw solely because one of my students is a princess, then I would be neglecting my duties to her, and could cause her problems in the future, because I decided flattery was more important than correcting her mistakes whilst they were correctable and not permanent."

Rosamund looked uncertain, but Myrcella placed a hand on her cousin's arm and prevented her saying anything more.

"Thank you, Lady Vaith," the princess said softly. "I appreciate that you are being so good as to put improving my skills above my favour."

Rosamund shot her a betrayed look but stayed silent as Lady Vaith smiled warmly at the princess, though Lia noticed that her eyes had a distance in them that they did not when looking at anyone from Dorne. That was not a surprise to her, though.

Not after overhearing that argument between her parents several moons past, and going a hunt to learn the real story of the Rebellion, instead of the glossy version told to them when they were younger.

"I am but doing my duty, Your Highness," Lady Vaith responded to the princess' words. "Now, as I said before, please redo the crown, and make more space between the points. 'Tis difficult, I know, but it is vital to be able to capably stitch the emblem of your house, my princess."

"Why?" Lia grumbled quietly. She mentally said a swear she had heard from one of the stable-hands when her voice caused her governess to turn her attention from the princess to Lia.

Lady Vaith raised an eyebrow at her, setting her hands on her hips. "Why what, milady?" she asked in a mild tone. The princess, Mariah, and Mariah's two closest friends, Teora Toland and Jayne Ladybright, all looked at them. Lia's own best friend, Dorea Dalt, gave her a sympathetic glance but stayed quiet.

Lia bit back a huff of frustration. Of course Lady Vaith had heard her whisper. The woman had ears like a bat. Only Mother could detect misbehaviour with more skill.

"Well?" Lady Vaith pressed pointedly. "I am your instructor, Lady Aliandra. If you have an inquiry, you must inform me, so that I can explain whatever you do not understand."

"Why do we need to learn to sew our House sigils?" Lia sighed. "It seems so pointless."

"Because if you can sew it onto a handkerchief, then you can sew it onto a banner or a tunic," the Northron lady replied primly, blue eyes stern. "And then, when the warriors are off fighting a war, they know who is with them and who is an enemy, and use their blades on their opponents instead of their allies._ That _is why, milady."

Lia shifted uncomfortably under the eyes that were fixed on her. To her relief, Dorea spoke up and took the attention off of her.

"Princess, what is the capital like?"

Princess Myrcella jolted, her emerald eyes as wide as a doe's. "Oh," she stammered. "I, I suppose that it is King's Landing. I have never really been anywhere else, save a visit to my grandfather at Casterly Rock. And here of course. I do not know what to say about it. Mother does not like us to leave the Red Keep, so I have never actually spent much time in the city proper."

Mariah and the girls frowned in disappointment at that.

"What about Prince Joffrey?" Jayne inquired, leaning forward with wide eyes. "He is so handsome! What is he like?"

Princess Myrcella shifted, looking uncomfortable. "Well, ah, he is handsome enough I suppose," she concurred uncertainly. "He is my brother of course. I do not notice such things about him."

"He likes Mariah," Teora declared proudly, as if she had somehow arranged the whole thing. "He told her that she was very beautiful."

"Imagine what would happen if he married her," Jayne said dreamily, as she hugged herself. "Then Mariah would be Queen of all the realm."

"He might," Mari pointed out with sparkling eyes. "Papa is the king's dearest friend. A betrothal between our houses would be a likely thing."

Lia shifted in discomfort, and not because custom would dictate that she, as the elder, be the one betrothed to the crown prince, if such an arrangement came to be. Gods, what an awful thought.

She had only learned a few moons past that her Aunt Lyanna, Uncle Benjen and Aunt Barbrey, along with their children, had all died at the Lannisters' hands, as well as the details of what had happened. She'd always known of the Sack, of course, but she had never really made the connection between her deceased maternal kin and the slaughtered loyalists in the Red Keep until she had overheard that fateful argument between her parents. As far as she knew Mariah and her other younger siblings had yet to learn anything of it.

What would Mother think of one of her daughters wedding the grandson of the man who'd ordered the brutal deaths of her family?

Mariah knew none of this, however, and she was glowing brightly at the prospect of wedding the Crown Prince (whom Lia could acknowledge was, well he was more pretty than handsome, in her opinion. Attractive enough, she guessed, though she imagined that it was title that made him so more than anything else. Certainly, he had not charmed_ her _during the feast last night.)

Lia was eager to change the subject and the mention of the prince had given her an idea. "Well, Father and Mother will be the ones to decide on our marriages, not anybody else," she stated abruptly. "But look at the time! Lady Vaith, might we please go and watch the boys train? Please."

Lady Vaith knew even better than Lia what had happened in the Sack, and she had grown up as a foster sister to that generation of Starks. Her expression was dark and her jaw was locked tightly as she listened to the girls gossip with each other. She nodded silently and rose as she responded.

"Lady Aliandra is correct, your marriages are your parents' decision and they will do what is best for you and for Dorne," she stated. "And yes, Lia, we may. You have all worked very hard, you deserve a break."

Excited at the prospect of seeing the prince spar, the girls all tidied away their sewing things, though Lia noticed that the princess and her cousin looked bemused. They had made to simply set their work aside until they noticed that the rest of them were putting their things back in their respective sewing boxes and putting the boxes on the shelf reserved for it, after which the pair copied their actions with an uncertain air. Apparently the princess and her companions had never been taught to clean up after themselves. Recalling the way the royals had treated the servants with complete indifference the night before, Lia was unsurprised. Queen Cersei didn't appear to be the type of woman to try and make life a little easier for her retainers, unlike Lia's own lady mother.

Lady Vaith led them out of the palace to the sparring yard. They arrived to a chorus of thuds and grunts from the men and boys in the yard.

To the disappointment of them all, it was the younger boys drilling. Arron was so heavily padded he looked as though he had belted on a featherbed, and Prince Tommen, who was plump to begin with, seemed more like a ball than a boy. They were huffing and puffing and hitting at each other with padded wooden swords under the watchful eye of Ser Vorian Shell, the master-of-arms for Sunspear. A dozen spectators, men and boys, were calling out encouragement, Rickard's voice the loudest among them. She spotted him standing in between his best friend Willam Wells and Theon Greyjoy, Theon's black doublet emblazoned with the golden kraken of his House with a look of wry contempt on his face. From the way that both of the combatants were staggering, Lia judged that they had been at it awhile.

She glanced around to see if Dorren was there as well, but was unsurprised to see that he was not. Most likely he was in the library with a book and their sister Sarella, or else following Maester Myles or Scholar Tallhart around. Although he was skilled with a spear, her second brother was very much an academic, and likely destined for either the Citadel or University. Probably the University, if Mother had it her way.

"Where's Prince Joffrey?" Mariah wondered, sounding disappointed. Lia looked around again, then pointed at the heir to the Iron Throne when she spotted him in the back, sheltered from the sun by a high stone wall. He was surrounded by men she did not recognize, young squires in the livery of Lannister and Baratheon, strangers all. There were a few older men among them; his guards, she assumed.

"There he is," she told her sister, who looked eagerly at the boy. Lia suppressed an eyeroll. Her sister could be so foolish sometimes. Mother would be irritated that she was letting the title and looks of the prince affect her opinion of him. How many times had she warned them that the most beautiful and powerful of people could often be the cruellest? Lia couldn't count them. The prince wasn't even doing anything except speak to the group surrounding him.

Their attention was drawn back to the courtyard by a shout. When they looked away from the Crown Prince, it was to see that Prince Tommen was rolling in the dust, trying to get up and failing. All the padding made him look like a turtle on its back. Arron was standing over him with upraised wooden sword, ready to whack him again once he regained his feet. The men began to laugh.

"Enough!" Ser Vorian called out. He gave the prince a hand and yanked him back to his feet. "Well fought. Joss, Garibald, help them out of their armour." He looked around. "Prince Joffrey, Rickard, will you go another round?"

Rickard, already sweaty from a previous bout, moved forward eagerly. "Gladly."

Joffrey moved into the sunlight in response to Vorian's summons. His hair shone like spun gold. He looked bored. "This is a game for children, Ser Vorian."

Theon gave a sudden bark of laughter. "You _are_ children," he stated derisively.

"Rickard may be a child," Joffrey said haughtily. "But _I_ am a prince. And I grow tired of swatting at Martells with a play sword."

"You got more swats than you gave, Joff," Rickard retorted. "Are you afraid?"

Prince Joffrey looked at him. "Oh, terrified," he sneered. "You're so much older." Some of the Lannister men laughed.

Lia glanced at the other girls. Mariah was frowning at the prince, and the other girls looked disappointed. The princess looked a mixture of resigned and familiar with her elder brother's attitude, which was not to the taste of the Dornish girls. Her sister and her friends were clearly disappointed with the way Prince Joffrey acted when away from the girls he desired to impress. Lia herself thought the boy to be all bark and no bite. She'd seen his hands the night before and they were as smooth as a baby's skin, with no evidence of callouses even _beginning_ to form. Even Lewyn, who was but eight, had more callouses than the prince did. Joffrey clearly didn't practice weaponry often, if at all. A shame that the son of the Demon of the Trident was so weak.

Ser Vorian ran a thoughtfully over his chin. "What are you suggesting?" he asked the prince.

"Live steel."

"Done," Rickard shot back. "You'll be sorry!"

The master-at-arms put a hand on Rick's shoulder to quiet him. "Live steel is too dangerous. I will permit you tourney swords, with blunted edges."

Joffrey said nothing, but a man strange to Lia, a tall knight with black hair and ugly burn scars on his face, pushed forward in front of the prince. "This is your prince. Who are you to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword, ser?"

"Master-at-arms of Sunspear, Clegane, and you would do well not to forget it."

Clegane. Lia went stiff. That was the name of the man who had raped and murdered her uncle's mistress and killed her twin cousins as the lady tried to hide them during the Sack. The man who had cut down her Aunt Lyanna as the Wolf-Princess fought to protect the Red Keep. It was surely a relative and not the man himself, though. Her father would not force her mother to endure the presence of her kin's killer, surely?

_After everything else that happened during that talk,_ a dark voice scoffed bitterly at the back of her mind._ Would you really put anything past him?_

Tears stung at her eyes and she bit the inside of her lip to hold them back, forcing herself not to think of her mother's sobs and her father's raised voice snapping angrily at her. She'd never thought him capable of being so cruel before that. Especially not towards her mother, and Mother's justified anger and hurt. She had not been able to look at him the same way ever since, and more than once she had wished she had never heard them arguing.

"Are you training women here?" Clegane wanted to know. He was muscled like a bull, larger than her father though not so tall. The one who'd killed her maternal kin had been labelled the Mountain that Rides, he was so large. This Clegane seemed too small to be him.

It couldn't be him.

Lia swallowed and shifted closer to Mariah, tempted to grab her sister and run away from the man. She wished Rick and Arron were not so close to him. What if he did something? He was so big, he could probably break Rick's neck with one hand.

"I am training knights," Ser Vorian replied pointedly. "They will have steel when they are ready. When they are of a more appropriate age for it."

The burned man looked at Rick. "How old are you, boy?"

"Fourteen," Rickard responded.

"I killed a man at twelve. You can be sure it was not with a blunt sword."

Lia could see her eldest brother bristle. His pride was wounded. He turned to Ser Vorian. "Let me do it. I can beat him."

"Yes, you may, Rickard," Mother's voice cut across Ser Vorian before he could respond. They all turned to see her stride into the yard with an even expression.

"Lady Martell, I do not believe-" the Master-at-Arms began to say, only for her to make him fall silent with an upraised hand.

"Ser Symon has informed my lord husband and myself that my son will likely be ready for knighting within the year," she declared, causing people to shoot impressed looks at Rick, who straightened proudly. "And of course, Prince Joffrey is the heir to a great warrior," Lia was amazed at how well her mother was at keeping her disdain and loathing from her tone and face. The young girl had no doubt that her mother sought to humiliate the people she so loathed by having her eldest son beat their's in battle, even a simple spar. In truth, Lia too was eager to see her brother beat the arrogant grandson of her aunt's murderer.

"Let them fight with steel," the Lady of Sunspear ordered, and the matter was settled. Willem and Theon helped Rickard ready himself, whilst a pair of Lannister men aided the prince in preparing.

"Begin!" Ser Vorian cried once the pair was ready.

Immediately, Rick went on the offensive. He swung his sword in an overhead arc towards Joffrey's head. Through what appeared to be sheer dumb luck, the prince somehow managed to catch the blow upon his blade. Then Joffrey swung his own blade, but Rick knocked it aside with blatant, almost mocking, ease, before launching back, and driving Joffrey across the yard with a series of sweeps, swings and shoves.

Lia watched proudly as her brother pushed Joffrey right up to the wall of men that surrounded them before he finally decided to finish it. With an elaborate twist of his blade, Joffrey's sword was wrenched from his grasp and landed a few feet away. Then, he slipped his own blade past Joffrey's shield, before tripping him with one of his feet, before catching him with his arms.

Almost before Lia could comprehend what was happening, Joffrey had ended up flat on his back with Rickard's foot holding him down and the point of his sword pressed against his neck.

"Match!" Ser Vorian cried. "Lord Rickard is the winner!"

Lia saw Rick grin and then he stepped back, releasing the prince. He held out his hand to help the other boy up, but Joffrey snarled angrily. Lia couldn't help letting out a giggle, drawing the men's attention to the group of watching ladies. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother smirk momentarily before the expression smoothed out into a proud smile directed at her eldest son.

Joffrey's face flushed as he realised the position that he was in. He sprung to his feet. "You cheated!" he claimed, jabbing a finger at Rick angrily. Rick's face flushed and Mother's expression darkened.

"I did not!" Rick denied immediately.

"You did!" the prince insisted. "I am the prince! Nobody can beat me! You should be executed for daring to harm me!"

"SHUT UP BOY!" Everyone jumped at the sound of the king's roar.

They all turned and saw him stamping towards them, face ruddy and with Lia's father at his heels, looking concerned.

"Father!" Joffrey exclaimed. "Father, we were sparring and he cheat-"

"I said shut up!" King Robert snapped. "I saw the whole damn thing. He did not cheat, you are simply useless with a blade! By the Gods, I'll not have you shaming us in the home of my dearest friend with your nonsense and spoiled attitude! Not another word, you shall go to your rooms with Ser Barristan and remain there until I grant you leave to come out! Understood?"

"But I-" the boy whined.

"I said is that understood?" The king demanded furiously.

Pouting, the prince nodded sullenly, and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard left the king's side to escort him away. Just after, Mother, her expression even, curtsied to the king and said she had to return to her duties, pausing long enough to whisper something to Rick and make him puff up in pride.

"By the Seven, Oberyn, forgive me for that," the king said as his son was leaving. "The boy's mother coddles him so, I really don't know what to do with him."

"Do not worry, old friend," Father dismissed it. "Many mothers do. He shall grow out of it, I am cure."

The king grimaced and muttered that he hoped Father was right before he turned to Rickard, grinning at him. "You're a fare sight better than your father with a sword, that I'll tell you now," he informed him. "Oberyn was always terrible with a sword."

"This coming from you," Father scoffed. "You could hardly tell the hilt from the blade. Poor Jon was fighting an impossible battle, trying to make either of us competent with anything other than our preferred weapons."

"Aye," the king agreed, expression going sad for a moment before brightening up again. "But what's this I hear about this lad being knighted at five-and-ten?"

Rick beamed and began to tell the fat monarch about Ser Symon's predictions.

"Let us go, girls," Lady Vaith ordered softly, directing them away from the yard, the lot of them silent. Lia was relieved to have gotten away from Clegane and the king. Their group was silent, everybody brooding on the scene that they had witnessed as they left. They were intercepted by a maid as they returned to the Maid's Solar.

The girl, a Stony Dornishwoman from the look of her, curtsied to them deeply. "Lady Aliandra, Lady Mariah, your lady mother desires to speak to you," she informed them. "She bids you come to your rooms to speak with her."

"We shall be there momentarily," Mariah said before Lia got the chance to answer. Lia nodded in agreement and the maid smiled, curtsied again and hurried off to her other duties.

"Off you go then girls," Lady Vaith ordered them briskly. "You must not keep Lady Martell waiting."

"Aye," they muttered before hastening off.

"-not fair!" they heard Meria declaring in a tearful tone as they passed by her chambers on the way to their own.

"I will speak with him, my darling," Mother replied soothingly. "You caught him off-guard, he is stressed at the moment, that is all. He loves you so, he hates to think of losing you to anybody. Once he has calmed down, I will speak with him, I promise."

Lia wanted to stay and find out what was going on, but she had learned her lesson on eavesdropping. She grabbed Mariah by the arm and tugged her the rest of the way to their small shared solar, just a little away from the one shared by Meria, Sarella and Obara and right beside the nursery where Loreza still lived for the moment.

"What do you think that is about?" Mariah mused as they entered and sat down on the chaise. Mariah picked up a half-finished handkerchief embroidered with a direwolf with small Martell suns in the corner for their mother's coming nameday that she was making, whilst Lia grabbed her drawing pad and a quill. Art was one of the few ladylike areas that she was better than her sister at. Mother always looked pleased and praised for her artwork, a skill she had inherited from her. It always made her feel guiltily smug. She loved all of her siblings deeply, of course. But she envied how effortlessly everything seemed to come to Mariah, and was fiercely proud of the few talents she had that her sister did not.

At the moment, she was working on copying a tapestry of Winterfell. Even after being in Dorne for over a decade now, her mother was still often homesick for her homeland. Lia was hoping that the piece might cheer her up.

"I don't know," Lia shrugged. "It sounded like Father refused Meria something. That's rare."

She spoke the truth. Father was very indulgent to all of his daughters, but Meria held a special place in his heart. Whatever whim she expressed he fulfilled. Lia tried not to resent her for it, as did Mariah and her other sisters. Usually they failed, though that was not to say that they loved her any less.

"You shouldn't shrug," Mara commented. "'Tisn't ladylike. I agree with you though. Father never says no to Meria. I wonder what she wanted."

Lia shrugged again just to annoy her younger sister, but then Mother entered and their conversation was cut off. They quickly put their gifts for her to the side so she couldn't see them.

"Don't look!" Mariah exclaimed, covering her handkerchief. "They're surprises!" Lia shot her an exasperated look. She had basically just announced that they were their gifts for Mother.

Mother's eyes brightened and she smiled gently. "I shan't, darling, I promise," she vowed. "I look forward to seeing them."

Mariah's smile brightened, and Lia also couldn't stop herself from sitting up straighter. Of course, Mother no doubt knew what they were already, if not the details. Since they were old enough to give her their own gifts, they had all been giving her the same things with different details. She hung them all around her chambers and solar, replacing them with the newest ones each year and putting the older ones away in a chest in her bedchamber. As far as Lia knew, they were all still there.

"Mother, what was it that you wanted to see us about?" Lia inquired.

"And what was Meria upset about?" Mariah added. "We heard her on our way here."

"We did not mean to eavesdrop," Lia said hastily. "But we couldn't help but hear a snippet whilst we were passing by her chamber."

Mother frowned slightly but then smoothed out her expression again. "It's alright, my darlings," she sighed. "Meria is upset because, well I do not want you to spread this around, alright?"

She waited until they had given their word not to do so before continuing. "Perros Blackmont asked your lord father for her hand in marriage this morning, and he refused."

"What?" they both gasped in unison.

"Why would he refuse?" Mariah asked, looking upset.

Mother's expression grew even more strained, though it was subtle. Lia had never noticed her mother's subtle tells up until the past few moons. "That is not your concern, young lady," she answered sternly, making Mariah bow her head and murmur an apology.

"Mama," Mariah said suddenly. "Why was the prince so mean during the spar? He is a prince, and princes are supposed to be good and chivalrous."

"We have discussed this before, sweetling," Mother sighed as she pulled Mariah into her arms. "Songs and stories, my love," she told her softly, looking at Lia to ensure that she was listening as well. "Are what the world _should_ be like, not what it _is_ like. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Mariah replied miserably. "But I don't like it."

"I know, sweetling," Mother sighed heavily. "Nor do I."

"Mother, what was it that you wanted to speak with us about?" Lia blurted out, desperate to change the subject.

Mother gave a fake smile, releasing Mariah from the hug. Lia knew it was fake, because her mother's eyes stayed a dark grey reminiscent of storm clouds instead of lightening to the silvery shade they were when she was genuinely happy about something.

"Well, my darling desert wolves," she replied with false cheer, clapping her hands together. "I have news for you both. Father has agreed to be the King's new Hand, so the three of us, Dorren, Lewyn and Arron are all going to the capital. Your elder sisters are likely to be coming also, save Obara who shall stay here and help your brother run Dorne. We shall leave within the fortnight. Is that not so very exciting?"

Mariah squealed in delight, her previous upset evaporating into thin air, and started asking their mother a barrage of questions. Lia, on the other hand, felt her stomach sink to the bottom of her stomach in dismay.

The capital. King's Landing. The place where Lia's aunts, uncle and cousins had all been brutally murdered. The place where the daughter of the man behind their deaths sat on the throne that should have been Aunt Lyanna's, but that she had taken by wading through the blood of Lia's kin.

This was not exciting, this was dreadful. How could her father possibly make them go? How could he force her mother to endure living in that place?


	8. Oberyn II

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**So, people seem to be disliking this Oberyn, even though they're enjoying the story itself. I want to defend him, 'cause he's only human, and nobody's perfect. (I also always feel the need to protect my protagonists. They're like my babies.). **

**Yes, I acknowledge that he's been a bit of an asshole in several incidences, but in his defence Lia didn't hear the whole argument, and the ONLY time he hit Aly (an accepted thing between spouses in this era/culture) was only two years after the war, when he was struggling with PTSD (untreated/diagnosed. Again, medieval culture), he was drunk at the time and (which was unmentioned in the chapter) Aly provoked him by insulting Elia (who she hates for running off with her twin's husband while said twin was recovering from almost dying in childbirth). The start of their marriage was very difficult to say the least. He was utterly horrified to have done it, and he stopped drinking in response. And as for refusing Perros permission to marry Meria, he was caught off-guard whilst stressed over the news about Jon and panicked. Finally, one reviewer said that Ned in canon didn't plan to bring all of his children knowing that Jon had been murdered, but if you read the books you'll see that's wrong. He was intending to bring both girls and Bran, whilst leaving his eldest and youngest children behind, but Bran was pushed and couldn't come, and neither Catelyn nor Luwin objected. Oberyn truly doesn't realize the danger yet, and he doesn't fully believe that Jon was murdered yet, either. His family is everything to him in this story as well, same as in canon. And yes, he is a bit more misogynistic in this story, due to a vastly different upbringing. But he just wants what's best for his daughters. He doesn't look down on women (marriage to Aly got rid of that).**

**Give him a chance to be redeemed, pretty please with a cherry on top?**

**As for how Lya got the twins away, more will be explained in the coming chapters, including in a upcoming interlude that will be several POVs and show the events leading up to Robert's Rebellion up until its' immediate aftermath.**

**Read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Six**

**Oberyn II**

_**Short distance from Planky Town: March 5**__**th,**__** 298 AC**_

Oberyn was shaken awake by his valet, Nate, in the hour before the dawn. It was the fifth day of the second week after they left Sunspear, when the world was still and the sky only just beginning to lighten.

Aly mumbled and turned over when he left their sleeping pallet, sighing and grabbing a pillow to hold in his place, whilst Oberyn stumbled into the predawn chill, careful not to disturb her and still groggy with sleep. He arrived to find his horse saddled and Robert already mounted and waiting impatiently for him.

"Up, Martell!" he roared. "Up, up! We have matters of state to discuss."

"By all means," Oberyn groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and waving back at the tent. "Come inside, Your Grace. We can discuss state business within my tent after I have slept some more. Martells are up with the _sun_, not the moon, thank you." Nate lifted the flap of the tent.

"No, no, no," Robert waved off his suggestion. His breath steamed with every word. "This is something that we must speak privately about, away from any unfriendly ears. This camp is filled with spies for various factions. Besides, I want to ride out and taste this country of yours again." Oberyn saw that Ser Boros and Ser Meryn waited behind their liege with a dozen other guardsmen. It was obvious from Robert's expression that there was nothing for him to do but duck back inside long enough to pull on some proper clothes and then mount up.

He supposed that at least the ride would help him properly wake up for the day, which was apparently going to begin abysmally early.

Thankfully, he managed to dress without disturbing his slumbering wife. She was excessively tired lately. It _could_ be the travel, but he recognized the signs. Given that she was having frequent cravings for lemons as she typically did when with child, otherwise usually unable to stand the sour taste of them, he expected to have another babe within the next year. He looked forward to it, he always loved his children more than anything, girl or boy. But even as he anticipated her confirmation of her state, he worried over the timing, given what he was planning on doing in the capital. Perhaps he should have left her behind, but then again she probably would have simply followed after, knowing her. And he knew that he would need her help. She was practically his right hand when it came to ruling, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he was hers, given how much work that she did, bless her. In addition, politics were most definitely _not_ his area of expertise. Aly, on the other hand, had grown up in the centre of court, and understood politics and people's minds like he understood how to fight with his spear.

He checked on his children as he went to join Robert at the edge of the camp, satisfied that they were all asleep and well. He paused when looking in on Meria and Sarella, guilt churning in his stomach as he took in the dried tearstains on Meria's face. He had panicked when Perros asked for her hand, picturing her birthing a child with, Seven forbid, purple eyes, or, even worse, silver hair. His lie had always been so very delicate, and probably only worked at all because he had not yet been wed by the time that Meria was born. If Meria bore a child with Valyrian features, the delicate house of cards that he had built would come crumbling down. He had initially wanted to leave her behind in Dorne so that nobody who had been at Aerys' court could glance at her and pick up on any resemblances to Rhaegar, but then he had changed his mind, wanting to remove her from the vicinity of the Blackmont heir. Now that he had refused permission, he could not go back on his decision without provoking questions. Questions that he would not be able to safely or truthfully answer.

The memory of Princess Lyanna's body, and those of her children, being presented to Robert still haunted him. But in his nightmares, it was Aly and Meria he saw in their places. Oberyn knew that, if what he had done was discovered, it wouldn't just be _his_ head on the line. At minimum, Aly and Meria would also be executed, and sometimes, despite his love for his old friend, he feared for his other children too. But for sure nobody would believe that his loyalist wife had been unaware that she was raising Rhaegar's sole surviving child, and they certainly would not allow said child to live.

He should have come up with a better lie, at the very least made up a story of a whore whom he had lain with during the war and was now dead to explain Meria's mother. But when Aly had idly questioned him on the matter once when Meria was three, saying that the girl's features reminded her of somebody, he had panicked then too and forbidden the topic, which had only made people curious. But at the time, he had not yet been able to trust her with the truth. Their truce had been so fragile, both of them still deep in grief over their losses in the war and united only by their love for their children. By the time that he did trust her enough to tell her the truth, he had fallen in love with her, and couldn't bear to imagine how she would feel, to know that the child borne of her goodbrother's betrayal of her twin called her mother.

He loved his sister deeply and completely, would do almost anything short of harming his wife or children to bring her back to life. But by the Seven, sometimes he truly hated her for putting him in the position that he was in. The hatred always evaporated quickly, however. Elia was his sister, and he could not maintain his anger towards her actions. It just kept coming back again and again, though. Maybe if he'd had answers beyond 'I loved him, I didn't mean for any of this to happen, I swear' as to the reasons for her actions, he'd be able to make peace with them, but he did not and he could not.

Oberyn exhaled heavily and ducked back out of the girls' tent to go and join Robert, forcing his thoughts away so they wouldn't show on his face. He had always been terrible at hiding his thoughts from those he cared for, and this was one secret that he needed to take to his grave.

Robert set the pace of their ride, driving his huge black destrier hard as Oberyn galloped along beside him, trying to keep up. Oberyn pitied the horse, easily seeing how even in spite of its' strength, it still panted from the exertion of going so fast with such a great amount of weight on its back.

He called out to Robert, inquiring as to where they were going, as they rode, but the morning breeze blew his words away, and Robert failed to hear his words. After that Oberyn rode in silence, focusing on keeping up with his friend. They soon left the kingsroad and took off across plains of sand covered with morning mist that had been blown in from the sea. The light fog twisted into shapes around the legs of their steeds as they galloped along. By then the guard had fallen back a small distance, safely out of earshot, but still Robert did not slow.

Dawn was breaking as they crested a low ridge and arrived on the edge of the coast with their steeds hooves in the water, and finally the king reined up. By then they were miles away from the main party. Robert was flushed and exhilarated as Oberyn pulled up beside him. The king's horse's nostrils flared as it tried to regain its' breath, and Oberyn once again felt a jolt of sympathy for the poor animal. Robert really needed to either do some exercising or eat and drink less, because he was as wide as he was tall and seemed to gain a bit more weight by the day.

"Gods," the king swore, laughing, "it feels good to get out and ride the way a man was meant to ride! I swear, Oberyn, this creeping along is enough to drive a man mad." He had never been a patient man, Robert Baratheon. Oberyn hadn't been one either when he was younger. He still wasn't very good at waiting, he was just better at it. Again, he thought that could probably be attributed to his lovely wife. Really, he didn't deserve her, but he was much too selfish to let her go. He would much prefer to be back in the tent with her in his arms than out here at such an ungodly hour of the morning.

"That damnable wheelhouse, the way it creaks and groans, climbing every bump in the road as if it were a mountain," Robert complained. "I promise you, if that wretched thing breaks another axle, I'm going to burn it, and Cersei can walk! That way I shan't have to listen to her moaning about leaving Myrcella behind."

As they'd feared, he had needed to substitute a betrothal between his heir and the princess to soothe Robert's disappointment at refusing to marry Lia to Joffrey. The king had then decided that his daughter should remain behind in Dorne to learn about her future kingdom and husband instead of returning to King's Landing with the rest of the royal family. The queen had been enraged, and complained constantly about the whole thing, making it clear she considered the future Lord Paramount of Dorne as too low a match for her only daughter.

Aly too was less than pleased. She'd wanted Rick to marry Lord Yronwood's daughter, and honestly Oberyn had preferred that match also. But at least Lia was spared being wed to Prince Joffrey, who's behaviour made Oberyn more uneasy with each day that passed. There was nothing overt that he could put his finger on, but something about the boy put him off, and Elbert's warning constantly played in the back of his mind when he was around the Crown Prince. In no world would he ever permit one of his daughters to marry a lord whose character he didn't trust.

Oberyn laughed at his friend's words. "I will gladly light the torch for you. Aly has a good pair of boots Her Grace can borrow for the trip."

"Good man!" The king clapped him on the shoulder. "I've half a mind to leave them all behind and just keep going. What do you say, Oberyn? Just you and me, two vagabond knights on the kingsroad, our swords at our sides and the gods know what in front of us, and maybe a farmer's daughter or a tavern wench to warm our beds tonight. Just like old times."

"Well, I think that I would prefer to bring my spear instead of a sword," Oberyn drawled. "Anyway, 'tis a pleasant thought, escaping all the tedium of ruling, but quite impractical. We have duties now, unfortunately. We are no longer free young men like in old times. I meant it when I told you that I will not betray my marriage vows, Robert." The king had already tried several times to get Oberyn to join him in the various brothels they had passed, but Oberyn had steadfastly refused him. It was one thing to sleep around as a free man, or even a betrothed one. But he had made vows to Aly, and he'd not break them.

"More's the pity," Robert grumbled. "You're awfully devoted to that treacherous Northron woman, 'specially since you did not even wish to wed her in the first place."

Oberyn felt his jaw tighten at that. Friend and king or not, Oberyn would not allow Robert to go around casting aspersions on Aly's character.

"My wife is_ not _a traitor," he snapped. "Her family fought for their liege lords, and had little choice in the matter given that her sister was Rhaegar's wife and both the princess and her younger brother spent the war in the Red Keep with their family's children. They did what they had to do to protect their kin as best they could, as we all did. And I may not have wanted to marry her at first, but Aly has borne seven healthy children for me, and ever been a good and dutiful wife to me and an excellent Lady of Dorne. Not many women would raise their husband's bastard daughters alongside their own trueborn children, and treat them just the same."

She had always been a far better wife than he deserved. She had been through a great deal, he knew, yet she had always been the model wife (at least while they were in public) regardless of the part his family had played in her own House's tragedies. Even when they were first wed and their relationship had been fraught with tension, she had ever been the dutiful wife despite her clear desire to become a widow. Were it not for her, he probably would have ruined Dorne entirely. The least that he could do was defend her honour when Robert insulted it.

"Really, Oberyn," Robert complained. "You are just like Jon nowadays. Can't take a joke anymore."

"I thought that you wanted me as your Hand because you wanted another Jon," Oberyn snipped back, making Robert smirk.

"True enough, I suppose," he agreed as the guard had reined up well behind them, at the bottom of the ridge.

"Well, I did not bring you out here to bicker about your wife," Robert stated, changing the subject, much to. "There was a rider in the night, from Lord Varys in King's Landing. Here." The king pulled a paper from his belt and handed it to Oberyn.

Oberyn tensed at the mention of the Master of Whispers. He didn't trust the man. He had served Aerys once, and been the only person outside of the Pyromancers' Guild trusted by the Mad King. Aly had spoken of him with the greatest scorn, claiming that half the innocents burned by Aerys had been sentenced to such due to the Spider's information feeding the madman's paranoia. Oberyn disliked that he retained his position still. In the aftermath of the Rebellion, he had advised the man be sent back to Essos at least. But as with the Lannisters, his suggestion had been dismissed. He unrolled the paper with a sense of trepidation that made his chest tighten, thinking of Elbert and his grave accusation towards the queen and her family. However, he was relieved to see that the message did not concern the Arryns. Frankly, he failed to understand what Robert was worried about in the first place.

"What is the source for this information?" He asked, studying the page carefully.

"Do you remember Ser Jorah Mormont?" Robert asked. Oberyn had to think for a minute before he nodded.

"He fought with the Northron army, and helped Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys escape," he stated. "The former Lord of Bear Island, yes?"

Another former foster sibling of Oberyn's wife as well. One of her 'pack mates', as she called them.

"He is actually a spy for us, pretending to be a Targaryen supporter," Robert explained. "Lord Varys makes good use of him. Unfortunately, the dragons move around too much to be caught."

"I see," Oberyn murmured, returning the letter to his king.

"What do you think of it?" Robert asked.

Oberyn pursed his lips. "The Dragon-in-Exile has wed the daughter of a Volantene Triarch," he stated with a shrug. "What of it? Shall we send them a wedding gift?"

Robert scowled. "A knife perhaps," he said coldly. "A good sharp one, and a bold man to wield it."

Oberyn did not even feign surprise; Robert's hatred of the Targaryens was a madness in him. He had Targaryen blood, perhaps this was how the insanity of the line had appeared in Robert, as it had appeared subtly in the form of an obsession with having heirs in Rhaegar, damn him. Oberyn still vividly remembered the angry words they had exchanged when Tywin Lannister had presented Robert with the corpses of Rhaegar's family as a token of fealty. Oberyn had named the act as a senseless and brutal murder; Robert had called it war. When he had protested that the young prince and princess were but infants and their three-year-old cousin a simple bastard incapable of being a threat to anybody, his new-made king had replied, "I see no babes. Only dragonspawn and a bastard wolf cub." Not even Jon had been able to calm their rage. Oberyn had ridden out that very day in utter fury, having taken the bodies of the murdered Starks with him in order to see them returned to Winterfell. He had refused his king's order to go and lift the siege at Storm's End, too disgusted with Robert to give any more aid to his cause. Instead he had gone following the lead he'd discovered in the capital to the small keep in the Neck where his sister had been hidden by Rhaegar. It seemed despicably disrespectful to know that Rhaegar had hidden Elia in his wife's homeland. And that he had named the place the 'Tower of Joy', when everything that occurred there had been a sorrowful event, was bitterly ironic.

The deaths of Princess Lyanna and her children, as well as Benjen Stark, Barbrey Ryswell and little Melara Snow had been horrific to Oberyn at the time. Now, after marrying Princess Lyanna's sister, after witnessing his wife's grief over the cruel murder of her beloved twin and the lack of justice for it, Oberyn found it utterly repulsive, and he found it difficult to even look at Robert when he thought of the callousness of his actions. It had taken another death to reconcile them; Elia's death, and the grief they had shared over her passing. Even then, Oberyn found that he could not look at Robert quite the same way, though his affection remained strong for the man who had grown and fought beside him for years.

Oberyn exhaled heavily. "Robert, this marriage is no threat to you. So what if Viserys has wed a Triarch's daughter? Maegyr is only one-third of the group, and they change yearly, not to mention the man is past sixty now. The boy has no support here. You have given peace where the Targaryens and their insanity brought only turmoil. He has nothing to supply an army, let alone fund a war. Volantis will not send an army to support a hopeless cause."

"The tigers hold a majority now," Robert retorted. "Viserys' new goodfather is the most powerful man in Volantis, he's been Gods only knows how many times in a row. The bride is his only living child, and she will soon be with child, if she is not carrying yet more dragonspawn to plague me already. Maegyr will surely desire a crown for her and his future grandchildren. I need to deal with them, all of them. The Exiled Dragon, as well as his damn mother and wife."

"You are a knight sworn to protect women and childrne, not Tywin Lannister, a man who murder innocent ladies purely because of marriages they had no choice but to obey their fathers and make," Oberyn argued in return. "The murder of an innocent woman for no reason other than her husband's identity. . . it would be immoral . . . depraved . . . "

"Depraved?" the king roared. "What Aerys did to your brother Doran was depraved. The way your goodsister and niece died, _that_ was depraved. And Rhaegar . . . how many times do you think he raped your sister? How many hundreds of times?" His voice had grown so loud that his horse whinnied nervously beneath him. The king jerked the reins hard, quieting the animal, and pointed an angry finger at Oberyn. "I will kill every Targaryen left, until they are as dead as their dragons, and then I will piss on their graves."

"My children have Targaryen blood," Oberyn pointed out stonily. "Their maternal great-grandmother was Princess Daella Targaryen, Aegon V's younger sister. Will you murder them also, Your Grace?"

Robert faltered. "That is different," he said defensively. "They are Martells, not Targaryens. It's the dragons that I want to get my hands on."

"But you cannot get your hands on this one, can you?" Oberyn pointed out, feeling relieved by that fact. Oberyn had never intended for innocent children to suffer in their rebellion. Dorne did not harm children. But it seemed that the Stormlands did.

The king's mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. "No, gods be cursed," he answered. "Volantis is impossible to penetrate, save for maybe by a Faceless Man, and I don't trust that lot at all. I should have had them killed years ago, when they were still in Braavos and getting to them was easy to do, but Jon was as bad as you. More the fool I, I listened to him."

"Jon was a wise man and a good Hand."

Robert snorted. The anger was leaving him as suddenly as it had come. It had always been that way. He lost his rage as quickly as he gained it. The king shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. "I tell you, Oberyn, I do not like this marriage. There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who call me an Usurper. Do you not remember how many houses fought for the Targaryens in the war, including your own goodfamily? They bide their time for now, but give them half a chance, they will murder me in my bed, and my sons with me. If Viserys crosses with a Volantene fleet at his back, the traitors will join him."

"He will not cross," Oberyn promised. "And if by some mischance he does, we will just throw him back into the sea."

Robert pursed his lips. "Do you know anything of what the Starks are doing?" he inquired. "Those damned Winterlanders are so blastedly loyal to the wolves, even Varys cannot plant any permanent spies within their ranks. The Magnar wrote to alert me that there is a new King-Beyond-the-Wall gathering the wildings clans together, and he is preparing to call his banners to march north and deal with them. The Lord Commander of the Watch confirmed his reports, but I find the timing very suspicious. The damn Starks have always been the dragons' favourite dogs."

Oberyn pursed his lips. He decided there was nothing to do but try. "If you were to hand over Clegane and Lorch to them so that they can have justice for the deaths of their kin," he began, only for Robert to lose his temper again.

"Clegane and Lorch did a great service for our cause!" the king snapped. "I'll not reply that service by letting them be executed for doing the world a favour!"

"A favour?" Oberyn hissed back, scowling at the king darkly. "By the Seven, Robert, do you even hear what you are saying? How is murdering a pair of women, their children and a boy too young to go to war doing the world a favour? You are a father yourself! How can you let Clegane get away with such travesties? The things I have heard of him doing-"

"Enough!" Robert bellowed. "I tell you now as your king, Oberyn, I shall not hear another word of Lyanna Stark or her children from you! Leave it be, do you understand?"

Furious and helpless, Oberyn bowed his head, his expression hard. "Aye, Your Grace," he consented flatly. "Your wish is my command."

Robert raised his hands defensively. "Oberyn, don't-gah!" The king shook his head. "I am heartily sick of squabbles and matters of state, Oberyn. It's all as tedious and frustrating as counting coppers. Come, let's ride. I want to feel the wind in my hair again." He kicked his horse back into motion and galloped up over the sand dune, raining dust down behind him.

For a moment Oberyn did not follow. He had run out of words, and he was suddenly filled with a vast sense of helplessness to replace his anger over Robert's stubbornness. Not for the first time, he wondered what he was doing here and why he had come. He was no Jon Arryn, to curb the wildness of his king and corral him into doing his duty as a ruler. Not when he struggled to curb his own wildness already. Robert would do what he pleased, as he always had, and nothing Oberyn could say or do would change that. When they were younger, he had made it worse.

The more time he spent around Robert, the more uncomfortable he felt, wondering who this stranger in Robert's skin was and where his best friend had gone.

A part of him wondered quietly if Robert had always been this way, and Oberyn had been too blinded by love for his friend to see the truth. Aly certainly believed so.

This whole trip was a nightmare and they had yet to even reach the docks at Planky Town, let alone the capital. Meria was furious and upset he had refused to allow her marriage, Aly was depressed and stressed by memories of her dead kin and likely with child, which meant she needed to be resting and caring for herself, Lia was still being sullen towards him, as she had been for months now, and he missed Sunspear and the three children he had left at home.

He belonged at Sunspear, running Dorne and raising their children with Aly at his side. But a man could not always be where he belonged, and whatever had changed, whatever acts he had committed, Robert was still his dearest friend, and quite possibly in grave danger. Oberyn had a duty to him. Not to mention his duty to Jon. He could not reply his former foster father for everything that he had done for him by choosing his own comfort over discovering the truth of the elder man's death.

Giving a heavy sigh of resignation, Oberyn dug the heels of his boots into his horse and set off after the king.


	9. Eddard I

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**Quick note. In canon, Robert gave Dragonstone to Stannis and made Renly Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. In this, it's the opposite, but not because he is any closer to Stannis than he was in canon. However, to gain the Tullys' support in the Rebellion, Elbert married Lysa (whom he was already betrothed to) and Catelyn was wed to Stannis on the condition that she would be Lady of Storm's End. Before that, Hoster had yet to find a groom for her because he wanted her to marry a Lord Paramount or an heir (obviously, Brandon and Ned were both unavailable in this as Brandon was a Kingsguard and Ned was already married to Ashara). After Jaime joined the Kingsguard, the only other suitors of a suitable rank (in Hoster's eyes) with her were either his generation (like Tywin) or else they were second sons. As such, Catelyn and Stannis are Lord and Lady Paramount of Storm's End.**

**Secondly, because it doesn't say what the words of House Dayne are, I made them up instead. In this, its: Dawn Will Break Again, a reference to the Sword of Morning.**

**Thirdly, I went back and added a line or two to Oberyn I, explaining the Wardenship of the South situation. In essence, Robert screwed himself over.**

**Now, the final thing is in regards to my two other on-going stories. I have up to chapter 19 of this drafted out and just needing some editing. So, I'll be posting just this (hopefully every day or second day at most) until I'm up to date with them, at which point I'll go back to swapping between the three of them.**

**Read, enjoy and review! All my love to you awesome people who make my day with your reviews showing how much you **

**Chapter Eight**

**Eddard I**

_**Winterfell: March 15**__**th**__**, 298 AC**_

_My dearest brother, _the letter from his sole living sibling began.

It was written in the Old Tongue and encrypted in a code used exclusively by the main line of House Stark, taught to all the children who had to swear never to teach to anybody outside of the House. Even the children of the non-heir members of the family. Just by looking at that code, Ned knew that Aly had information for him.

At the start of her marriage, Aly's letters had been written in Andaii and contained little of substance, due to fear of them being intercepted. After a while without her husband concerning himself with her correspondence, in fact he had given her free access to his own, they had deemed it safe to return to communicating in the code, so as to _actually_ inform one another of what was occurring in each other's lives. Many letters were written in the Common Tongue, ones that had nothing of import, just updates on each other's families and they themselves, within the pages. But whenever he opened an envelope and saw the code, Ned knew that Aly was passing on something important to him.

Ned always searched for any hint of Aly being mistreated or unhappy in her letters, as well as receiving regular reports on her and her children from his spies in Sunspear (none of which were among the retinue sent south with her. Any of them would have been far too obvious to be useful. Several of them _pretended_ to be plants, but they were really just decoys, and aware of that fact, though they didn't know whom the real spies were.). Ned had failed to protect Lyanna and Benjen, but he would not fail his remaining sibling. Not anymore than he had already, at the least.

_I pray that yourself, Ashara and the children are all well, and that the Winterlands are prospering. Of my own family, to say that things are rather chaotic at the moment is an understatement._

_My lord husband has agreed to take the position of Hand of the King for the Usurper, and I shall explain the reason for his decision below. It is most urgent news, Ned. I hope that it shall aid you in achieving our family's goal of gaining justice for our fallen siblings and the children. I will be going to King's Landing with him, as Oberyn is utterly hopeless with politics, bless that man._

Ned clenched his teeth at the words. Aly to return to the capital where their sister had died? Gods, please let it be a cruel jest.

_But first, I will update you on what is happening with my children. I know you will be eager to learn of them._

Ned paused to give a rueful smile at how well Aly knew him, even so many years after she had left the North. He had never laid eyes on any of his Dornish nieces or nephews, but they were his blood (well, his eldest three nieces had not been born from Aly's womb, but she had taken them into her heart and so he considered them to be pack also). He was ever eager to hear of how they were, far more than anything else.

In the worst-case scenario, he would put revenge aside in favour of protecting the Pack. But only as a last resort. The North Remembered, and Winter was Coming for their enemies.

_Rickard is to remain behind at Sunspear. He will be running Dorne (of course with help from his advisors) whilst we are away. If the Gods are good, it will only be for a short time. Then some other poor fellow can take over trying to wrangle the kingdoms and we can go home. But the practice will do him good. I am so very proud of him, Ned. I know that I say so in every letter that I write to you, but he reminds me so much of our family. Father's name and shrewdness, Brand's fighting skills and charm, and Ben's good nature. I hope that he has your intelligence. _

_Lia, the twins, Lewyn and Arron are all coming with us to the capital, as are Sarella and Meria. I confess, Ned, I despise that fact. Although it would mean being away from them for Gods only know how long, I would still prefer for them to remain behind, especially the younger ones. Arron is only six, and Mariah is such a dreamer, so naïve. I fear for them in the capital, it is such a poisonous place and they are unprepared for it. Lyanna and I certainly were, when we went there first. Unfortunately, Oberyn had his mind made up on the matter, and I cannot persuade him otherwise. I don't like it at all. That place is an evil one. _

_Originally, Meria was to remain behind. But this morning Perros Blackmont, the heir of that House, requested her hand. It was a wonderful offer Ned. I am lost as to why my husband refused it. He did not even consider it, and now Meria is to come along as well, to keep her away from Perros. We argued about it, but he refuses to listen to me._

_I think it has something to do with her mother. Gods above, Ned, I hate that the thought of a woman I know nought of haunts me, but it does. I am such a weak-hearted fool of a woman, I think. What does it say of me, that I am jealous and hurt over his love for a woman he has not laid eyes on in fifteen years? Would that I had not fallen in love with him. __After everything he and his whore of a sister did during the Rebellion, how is it that I love him?_

_Never mind. None of that is of any true importance. I shall go to the heart of the matter, the reason I am writing to you in code. _

_As you are aware, Lord Elbert Arryn is one of my husband's friends. He met with us most mysteriously last night. He wished to speak in the dead of night, where none could hear the conversation, and we obliged him. His news was shocking, Brother. He believes his uncle to have been murdered by the Lannisters, in order to prevent him from exposing some treason they have committed. _

_We are now destined for the capital, that Oberyn and I might learn the truth of the matter and expose it. I have no desire to aid the Usurper, but I cannot allow my husband to get himself killed out of his misguided loyalty to the Butcher Stag and his late foster father, and he is determined to find out what is going on. I cannot say if this information will be of any aid to you in regards to your plans to see our family avenged. However, I promise to keep writing to you of any developments in the matter. _

_I will also be contacting my and Lya's old friends in the capital, whom I am sure will be able to provide me with information of the stability of the Usurper's regime. I know you likely know it all already through the Ice Eyes network, but I shall send you anything of note anyway, just in case something was missed. As Father used to remind us, people report what they consider to be important and are trained to listen for, and what they think to be relevant might not be the same as what I think matters._

_All my love, your sister,_

_Alysanne Martell of House Stark, Lady Paramount of Dorne and Magnara of the Winterlands._

At last, Ned set the letter down on his desk and laced his fingers together before resting his chin on his interlocked hands, closing his eyes to think. He stayed silent as his wife picked up the page to read it herself, clicking her tongue in thought as she read and he thought.

So. The Usurper's Hand had been murdered by the lions. There was a coldly just type of irony that the wedding he had arranged seemed to have ultimately killed him. But it made Ned uneasy to say the least, knowing that his surviving sister was heading back to the thrice-be-damned capital where their late and much lamented sister and brother had been brutally murdered with five of her children and two of her stepdaughters in tow. Especially given the ever-increasing amount of Lannisters filling the place.

The Snake was an utter idiot, to bring his family to such a place when he knew that their lives would be in danger. Had the man even had the forethought to make arrangements to flee urgently, should it be needed? Going against the Lannisters was no easy or simple thing to do. Ned had spent the last decade and a half readying his family and people to defeat them.

"What do you think then?" Ashara asked at last after finishing reading and putting the sheet of parchment back down again.

"I think that the lions committing treason is a highly plausible occurrence," Ned answered her, opening his eyes and turning his head to meet her purple gaze. "And likely even. 'tis not as if they don't have a track record of such things."

He clenched his hands into fists, thinking of Lya and Ben's battered bodies. The Silent Sisters had done their best to repair the damage, but it had almost made it worse, seeing the threads were their limbs had been sewn back onto their bodies. The mere recollection of it made bile rise in his throat. He pushed them away, clearing his throat and continuing.

"We are also aware from our people in the capital that the late Lord Arryn was, very unsubtly, investigating something along with Lord Stannis, and that the Stormlord fled with his family back to Storm's End just after the death of the Hand. But what truly concerns me, my love, is that the Snake has decided to bring his wife and most of his children with him to that cursed place. Should things go sour, then they may be used as hostages, both against Dorne and us."

Ashara nodded slowly in agreement. She stayed quiet, evidently brooding over the letter in her own mind. He would wait until she had come to her own conclusions on the matter. Gods knew that her advice and steadfast support was invaluable to him.

Ned sighed and pushed away from the desk, rising to pace the length of his solar as he tugged harshly at his beard, using the pain to think. Southrons were soft, shying away from pain. The Winterlands embraced it, and used it to improve and strength themselves. Like how the pain of losing his siblings and being denied justice fuelled his and his vassals desire and determination to see them avenged.

It seemed to him that the pieces were at last moving into the right position. Prince Viserys was betrothed to Lady Margaery Tyrell. The Tyrells had fought alongside the Winterlands to defend the Targaryen dynasty from the rebel alliance of Dorne, the Vale, the Stormlands and the Riverlands during the War of the Usurper. Unlike the ungrateful Tullys, who had allowed their ambitions to be stronger than their duty to the House that had raised them to their position, the Tyrells had remained loyal to the dragons during the War, and then the Usurper had further angered them when he had stripped them of the Wardenship of the South and given it to his Snake instead, thus ensuring that they would never truly support his dynasty against the Targaryens. The marriage of Viserys and Lady Margaery, who would become Lord and Lady of Summerhall and the future Lord and Lady Paramount of the Stormlands according to Aegon and Rhaella's last few letters, would ensure that tie remained strong.

Due to the conveniently-timed rise of the new King-Beyond-the-Wall, Mance Rayder, Ned was able to start organizing his army to march under a legitimate pretext, instead of being forced to try and do so in secret, which would have been incredibly difficult, if not impossible. But once they had dealt with the wildings, instead of disbanding the army back to their peacetime duties of policing the Winterlands, Ned would turn them south. They would meet up with his nephew's army and the Tyrells would also make their move.

It would be difficult, Ned did not deny that. The Stormlands-Vale-Dornish-West alliance had defeated them before. But things were different now. There was no Mad King to contend with, and _they_ would be the ones to take the Usurper and his supporters by surprise, not the other way around. The last time, the loyalists had not been able to summon their full army due to the hastiness of everything and Aerys' contradictory and incomprehensible orders and as a result the troops they had called had been too overstretched and confused. This time, however, it would be the full might of the Reach and the Winterlands, the two largest armies in the Seven Kingdoms, combined with the troops supplied by the loyalists in the other kingdoms, the Company of the Rose that had agreed to aid them for less than half of the usual fee on account of their close ties to the North, and the Volantenes. Well, Aegon had yet to officially secure the support of Volantis for their cause, but all reports seemed to indicate that the contract was all but settled and signed.

In spite of his hatred for the Snake, Ned was hopeful that his sister's marriage might prove useful for them also. From Aly's letters and from his people's reports, it seemed that the Usurper's Snake had grown to care deeply for her. It was quite possible that he genuinely loved her. Ned would be unsurprised if it was so. Aly was beautiful, kind, intelligent and so very good-hearted. What man with sense or eyes would not fall in love with her? With luck, the man would decide to remain neutral for his wife's sake. But just in case, Ned had made up plans for him siding with the Usurper against them again.

Ned deeply regretted being unable to tell Aly the truth of Aegon and Dany's survival. She of all people deserved to know the truth of what had happened to their niece and nephew. But doing so was too risky. By the time he himself had learned of how Lya had managed to smuggle her children out of King's Landing, replacing them with children of similar ages and looks whose loyal parents had volunteered their babes for the task, Aly had already been wedded and taken to Dorne by the Snake. Whilst telling her the truth would have given her comfort in the middle of her grief, it would have put her in a very dangerous, very precarious position. She had a duty to her husband, after all. And had the letter been intercepted, and unencrypted, he'd have sealed the twins' fates, as well as his own and anyone else suspected of knowing the truth.

No, he had no choice but to keep the news secret, and leave Aly to grieve. He could only hope that one day, when the truth came out, she forgave him for it.

"Well, my love," Ashara said at last. "What do you wish to do?"

"There is little to be done," he sighed bitterly in reply, jaw tense. "The Gods made their plans and laid out the paving for our paths long ago. We mortals can do no more than follow it. Aly knows people in the capital still, and she is no fool. She will take care."

Doing nothing still did not sit well with him, however. The last time any of his family had gone to King's Landing, none of them had returned alive. For all he had not seen her in fifteen years, Aly remained his sister, the only sibling he had left. Her children were his blood. He feared for them all, even the Sand Snakes that his sister had taken as her own.

"Perhaps, my love, there_ is _something that we can do for Aly," Ashara suggested softly, coming to his side and wrapping herself around his arm. Still slender despite six pregnancies, when compared to his bulky frame she was as tiny as a Child of the Forest.

"What?" he inquired, wrapping his arm around her to pull her closer and take comfort from the familiar feel of her body pressedagainst his.

"We know that she is in danger, so we can make preparations to secure the safety of she and her family, should it be necessary," Ashara explained. "We can have some of our men planted in the capital, along with a boat. They can contact her on arrival, and alert her to their presence and make contingency plans with her. Then, if it ever becomes necessary and I shall pray to the Old Gods and the New that it will not be, they will be able to escape the capital and flee to the safety of either Dorne or our own kingdom, whichever is best."

Ned considered her words, then gave a grave nod, relieved and satisfied with the plan. "You are wise, my wife," he declared. "I shouldn't know what to do without you and your aid. I will go immediately and write a letter to Captain Skystark, order him to link up with Captain Seastark and Captain Starstark, that they can make arrangements for it. I think the three of them would be the best to entrust with this mission. Them, and Lord Seaworth."

Ashara nodded in agreement. The Skystarks, Seastarks and Starstarks were all the naval families of House Stark's many cadet branches. They were all taught from childhood to sail and to be the best of merchants. But they also acted as smugglers, and spies too. They were an invaluable asset, in spite of the Starstark and Seastarks' fierce rivalry.

Lord Davos Seaworth, meanwhile, was a former smuggler. He was the only person in history to successfully manage to navigate the Wolf's Funnel without aid from a trained pilot, some six years before the War of the Usurper had begun. The Skystarks had managed to catch him after three years of searching, and brought him before Ned's father. The smuggler had expected to be executed. Instead, the late Magnar had granted him a coastal keep and a lordship, in return for the man swearing his allegiance and service to the Starks, his house being sworn to Lord Skystark, who had become fond of him during the journey to see the magnar.

Neither his father nor Ned had ever been given any cause to regret the action, and Ned had gladly accepted the man's sons to foster at Winterfell as part of the Wolf Pack alongside the rest of the noble children sent there to be raised loyal to the ruling house. Davos was the best of men, and cunning as well. Due to the combination of his time as a lord and his upbringing in Fleabottom, he provided a different perspective to plots and plans, one that was unique and inestimable.

Ashara went up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He turned his head to catch her lips instead, sighing against her mouth.

He truly didn't know what he would have done without her. Ashara had been his rock during the initial year after they had lost the war. Ned had been racked with guilt over surviving where so many others he loved and cared for had not, ashamed over missing his first child's birth and much of his first year of life, and absolutely stricken over not preventing Aly's marriage to the Usurper's Snake, in spite of the greenseer's words. Ashara, although she too had been grieving for her brother Arthur's death, had stayed strong. She had kept not only Winterfell, but the kingdom itself running, even as she raised their young son and comforted Ned in the midst of his deep grief.

Ashara leaned up to kiss his cheek, and he turned to catch her mouth instead. When they pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers, taking comfort in the familiar feeling of her body in his arms.

"Stay strong, my Stalking Wolf," she murmured to him, rubbing his arms in assurance and using the name he had gained in the War, after he had led a force of three hundred wargs to defeat Baratheon's host at and then chased the man to the Stoney Sept. Had it not been for the arrival of the Dornish and Riverlander reinforcements, then they would have caught and killed the Usurper there, thus stopping the rebellion in its tracks and saving all of his family save his father. Unfortunately, they had been outnumbered by the thousands. Though the Warg Warriors were the best of the best, there was only a small amount of them, and by the time the Battle of the Bells had begun, they had been chasing and fighting the Usurper's host for weeks without proper rest, and the rebel reinforcements had been fresh and eager for battle. They'd had no choice but to retreat and regroup instead.

If only they had managed to get to the Usurper earlier, so much would have been different, been _better. _So many of his people would be alive. Eight houses had been wiped out in the War, cadet branches of his own House. Not to even mention the brutal slaughter of every Northron in the capital during the Sack.

If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride, Ned recalled Old Nan's saying. Or one of them. There was no point in thinking of 'what ifs', yet he could not stop himself from thinking on different ways the war could have gone that allowed his siblings and people to survive.

But none of those scenarios could ever come true. That being said, Ned would not rest until the Lannisters were ground to the dust of ashes for the travesties they had committed, and his nephew seated atop the Iron Throne where he had been borne to sit.

"Winter is Coming for the enemies of our Pack," Ashara went on softly. "And when they have been defeated, Dawn Will Break Again, bringing with it a new era for the dragons and the kingdoms."

"Aye, so it will," he agreed softly, leaving her embrace to go over to the window and peer out over the courtyard. In the sparring yard below, Artos was sparring against three members of his Wolf Pack, Val of the Giantsbane Free Folk Clan, Brandon Greystark and Cregan Icewolf, under the watchful gaze of Rodrik Cassel, the Master-at-Arms for Winterfell.

"So it will," he repeated, still watching the pack siblings fight. The pieces were falling into place at last. The Gods were moving everybody into position to ensure that vengeance could be gained and Ned's nephew could at last take his place as the true King of Westeros.

"Soon," he murmured. "Winter is Coming."

The North remembered, and Ned would not rest until his family was avenged.


	10. Alysanne III

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**Chapter Nine**

**Alysanne III**

_**King's Landing: March 26**__**th**__**, 298 AC**_

It had been almost sixteen years since Aly had last stepped foot in King's Landing, but to her eyes the city didn't appear to have changed in the slightest.

The city still covered the shore as far as Aly could see from her position on the brow of the_ King Robert's Hammer_, the royal flagship; there were still the same manses and arbours and granaries, brick storehouses and timbered inns and merchant's stalls, taverns and graveyards and brothels, all piled one on another. They looked slightly different from what she remembered, no doubt having been damaged or destroyed in the Sack and then rebuilt. But other than fresher paint and such, they remained pretty much exactly the same as she remembered them being. She could hear the familiar clamour of the fish market even at this distance. Between the buildings were broad roads lined with trees, wandering crookback streets, and alleys so narrow that you had to walk one-by-one instead of two abreast. Visenya's Hill remained crowned by the Great Sept of Baelor with its seven crystal towers. Across the city on Rhaenys' Hill stood the blackened walls of the Dragonpit, its' huge dome collapsing into ruin, its' bronze doors closed now for a century. Aly was surprised that Robert hadn't gotten rid of it, when it was so closely linked to his hated foes. The Street of the Sisters ran between the two hills, straight as an arrow. The city walls rose in the distance, high and strong, no evidence of that fateful day so many years ago to be seen.

A hundred quays lined the waterfront, and the harbour was crowded with ships. Deepwater fishing boats and river runners came and went, ferrymen poled back and forth across the Blackwater Rush, trading galleys unloaded goods from Braavos and Pentos and Lys. Aly spied the queen's ornate barge, tied up beside a fat-bellied whaler from the Port of Ibben, its hull black with tar, while upriver a dozen lean golden warships rested in their cribs, sails furled and their iron rams lapping at the water to keep them in place.

And above it all, frowning down from Aegon's Hill, the highest of the three, was the Red Keep; seven huge drum-towers crowned with iron ramparts, an immense grim barbican, vaulted halls and covered bridges, barracks and dungeons and granaries, massive curtain walls studded with archers' nests, all fashioned of pale red stone.

But though everything else remained just the same as when the Targaryens ruled, one thing was starkly different. A single, tiny change that represented so much. Unlike when she was young, the banners that flew from battlements of the keep were golden, not black, and where the three-headed dragon had once breathed fire, now pranced the crowned stag of House Baratheon.

The sight made her feel sicker than the rocking of the ship on the waves.

"Oh, what is that smell?" Lewyn complained from his position at her side. Oberyn was off dealing with the Usurper, whilst she had her children with her, watching them lay eyes on the capital city of the Seven Kingdoms for the first time.

"King's Landing," Aly replied simply, unable to pull her gaze away from the city.

It was a struggle to maintain her calm demeanour, with memories of her previous trips to King's Landing pressing in on her. The first time, she had been ten namedays, sent with Lyanna to serve Queen Rhaella as ladies-in-waiting until it was time for her sister to wed the prince, after which she had transferred to Lya's household as her Chief Lady-in-Waiting. Though they had spent quite some time at Dragonstone, they had spent most of their time at court, as Rhaegar worked to keep his father's madness from destroying the realm. She had spent about five years at court, all of the time combined.

"Why does it smell so terribly, Mother?" Mariah complained, wrinkling her nose delicately.

"There are too many people, and the waste system is subpar," Aly explained. "The city was not properly planned, it simply sprung up and continued to grow. The kings have all been too busy with other matters to ever really tackle the problem, though many started to. There was always something else to take priority over it."

Rhaegar had planned out everything to sort out the problems of the city. He'd had everything drawn up, and intended to delegate responsibility of it to a trusted advisor (it probably would have been Jon Connington, his most trusted friend) so that the work would finally get done, even if he didn't have the time to actually oversee it himself.

"It's awful," Lia muttered. "Can we not go home?"

"Yes," Meria agreed with a sniff. "Home sounds much better than this dratted place."

Aly sighed tiredly, briefly closing her eyes and resisting the urge to rub at her sore temples. She was so very exhausted. As she and her husband had both suspected, she was most definitely with child again, and the voyage had made her weary. The memories plaguing her constantly wearied her even more. She was not in the mood to deal with her daughters' pouting.

Although Aly_ did_ understand why Meria was so upset. Oberyn's refusal to allow the marriage between her and the Blackmont heir was more than a little bewildering. At first Aly had assumed he was simply caught off-guard, and had refused on instinct. She had thought that he would consent to the match once he had calmed down from the surprise of it. But it had been almost two moons now, and he still steadfastly refused to even consider it.

From the way he talked, Aly suspected that he intended to refuse permission for Meria to wed not just Perros Blackmont, but anybody at all. It was utterly bizarre, considering he had discussed potential matches for all of the other children, even Obara and Sarella, and little Lorie. Yet he would not agree to let Meria wed anyone, nor did he intend for her to become a septa, a lifestyle that would never suit the girl in any case.

Aly had the sinking suspicion that his reasoning led back to Meria's mysterious mother. Was the reason that her husband refused to allow Meria to wed because he didn't want to lose the last remaining piece he had of his former lover? The thought stung deeply, and she rested a hand over her abdomen, as if to shield the babe growing within from the cruelties of the world.

"We will not be here forever," Aly murmured, shoving away those thoughts. "Now, get ready please. We are docking. You see that carriage? That one is for our family, and it will take us to the Tower of the Hand where we shall be living."

"While we are here, none of you are to go out without a guard, understood?" Oberyn came up beside them. She could see the tension lining his jaw and spine. "This place is full of criminals," her husband continued briskly. "I forbid any of you to go around exploring or without protection."

"Yes Father," the boys and Mariah all chorused obediently, though Lewyn and Arron looked disappointed at the denial of permission for them to go seeking out the many secret passages built by Maegor the Cruel. She would have to keep a careful eye on them, least they try to sneak off and get into trouble.

The Red Keep was no place for a child to go about getting into mischief.

"I said, is that understood?" Oberyn repeated, looking sternly at Meria and Lia, who had not replied to his order.

Meria glowered at him, but muttered her acquiescence to the instruction. Lia echoed her a moment later, not looking at her father.

Aly was still mystified as to what had occurred to distance her eldest blood daughter from her husband. Lia had always been close to Oberyn, like all of their children were, but a few months previous she had suddenly started avoiding him and become reluctant to spend any time with him. Despite Aly's attempts to coax an explanation from her, it hadn't worked.

Save for the tense atmosphere between the girls and their father, they made their way to the Red Keep without incident and in relative silence. Sarella, Mariah and the boys were busy peering eagerly out of the carriage windows, Aly was struggling to keep from succumbing to her mother's stomach and being ill from the bumpy way the wheels rolled over the cobblestones, not to mention her memories, and Oberyn was lost in thought. The other girls spent the journey leaning back against the cushions. Meria had her arms crossed over her chest with a sullen scowl on her face whilst Lia petted Crystal's snout, who had her head resting on Lia's lap.

The minute that they disembarked from the carriage in the castle courtyard before the Tower of the Hand, the king's steward arrived to tell her husband that Grand Maester Pycelle had convened an urgent meeting of the Small Council. The honour of the Hand's presence was requested as soon as it was convenient.

"It will be convenient on the morrow," Oberyn snapped as he helped Aly descend from the carriage.

The steward bowed very low. "I shall give the councillors your regrets, my lord."

"My lord," Aly said softly, meeting his gaze and silently trying to communicate with her eyes that it would not do to offend the council before he had even begun.

He sighed in resignation and returned his gaze to the steward. "Very well then, I will see them. Pray give me a few moments to change into something more presentable."

"Yes, my lord," the steward said. "We have given you Lord Arryn's former chambers in the Tower of the Hand, if it pleases you. I shall have your things taken there."

"My thanks," Oberyn replied. The rest of their household was coming through the gate behind them, and Oberyn turned to her and their own steward Ricasso. "It seems the council has urgent need of me," he stated to Ricasso. "See that our things and the children are all settled. Aly, my love, you ought to lie down. You are very pale." Aly nodded silently, feeling faint, as Ricasso bowed. Instructions given, Oberyn turned back to the royal steward. "Our trunks have yet to arrive from the docks," he informed him briskly. "I shall need appropriate garments."

"It will be my great pleasure my lord," the steward answered.

He left quickly, pausing long enough to kiss Aly's cheek and mutter another order for her to rest, before hastening off.

Aly went into the Tower with her children, giving instructions to the servants to ensure that everything would be settled before leaving the children in the capable hands of Myriame and Arrana Skystark, a cousin of the current Lord Skystark, her trusted handmaid of twenty years and childhood playmate, trusting her old friends to keep her children well in hand.

Then she went to the bedchamber set aside for her, lay down on the bed with her head buried in the soft, goosefeather pillow, and started to sob.

All she could see were ghosts and memories, good and bad. She could picture Lya's face, glowing with beauty and happiness as she gazed up at Rhaegar on their wedding day.

Rhaegar had loved Lyanna, Aly genuinely believed that. How could he not? Lyanna had been kind, clever, beautiful and brave. She had not been some helpless southron flower of a woman, who had need Rhaegar's protection every minute. She had been fierce and strong, but able to maintain the expected submissive demeanour of a wife that the south demanded. The couple had been friends long before they had married, and he had treated her as a partner, had often expressed his relief at her abilities.

"I have enough to worry about," he'd said once with an amused and proud smile as he watched Lyanna cross swords with Ser Oswell. "Thank the Gods, they have lessened my burdens by giving me Lya as my wife."

Why had he turned away from her? Aly couldn't understand it. Everything had been normal in their marriage. They had been betrothed from childhood. Though Rhaegar was some years Lya and Aly's elder, closer to Brand's age, the pair had become close friends from their meeting, and Rhaegar had confided in his wife more than anybody else. The way he had looked at Lyanna, Aly could not believe he had not meant it when he said that he loved her. Yet one look at that damned Elia Martell had destroyed it.

Perhaps it was cruel of her, to hate a dead woman she didn't know so much. Rhaegar had played a great part in Lya's shaming as well. He had not been the type of man to be manipulated by a pretty woman, and Aly did not think that Elia had even been very lovely to look upon. But Aly had loved her goodbrother dearly, and so she preferred to blame Elia for what happened, just as her husband refused to hear a word against his sister and damned the late Crowned Prince to the seven hells.

No matter which of the couple was more to blame, Aly could not forgive either of them for the public humiliation of her sister.

Lyanna had not been the sort of lady to weep at things. She had raged instead. Even in the midst of birthing her babes, she had not shed a tear at the pain, only screamed. Aly had only seen her cry twice in the whole sixteen years her sister had been alive. Once, when their mother had died of a fever when they were eight, and then a second time, the afternoon of the day of the Tourney at Harrenhal when Rhaegar had shamed her so grievously.

Aly recalled all of it as vividly as if it were yesterday: they had organized everything perfectly. Ser Oswell had met with his brother to have the man agree to host it under the guise of celebrating his daughter's nameday, the Starks had used their own coffers to fund everything, as Rhaegar using so much of the royal treasury would have been noticed. A representative of almost every house in Westeros had been attending, save for the Iron Islands. The tourney was to be a cover to allow Rhaegar to call a Great Council and convince the lords of the realm to help him set aside his father and install himself as Regent. Betraying his father had been a difficult decision for her goodbrother to make, one he had agonized over, but Aerys had been getting ever more paranoid and cruel, and they had feared he would soon turn his wrath on his own kin as well. He had already been burning people for over a year by then, and Varys, newly arrived from Essos, only made things worse by whispering in his ear.

"I have to," Rhaegar had said just before the tourney, resolve settling in his purple eyes as he rested a hand on Lya's stomach, then only just beginning to swell. "For the good of Westeros, I have to do it."

But things had begun going wrong right away. Aerys had decided to attend the tourney, shocking everybody by deciding to leave the Red Keep for the first time since the Defiance of Duskendale. Aly and the others who'd known of the true reasons behind the tourney had always believed that the Spider had told the king of their plans.

Varys had always been a strange and suspicious man, in Aly's opinion. He'd never said a word to Aerys about the way their group would manage to smuggle people who Aerys had decided to burn to safety, replacing them with criminals instead. It had still been awful to behold, but better convicts than innocents. Aerys had been satisfied so long as he got to watch a person scream to death as flames licked at their skin. They had not always been successful, but they had saved many innocents from Aerys' madness with their efforts.

But although Varys hadn't revealed their actions to the king, and he had surely known of them, he had still subverted their attempts to remove Aerys from power. Aly could only assume that Varys was out only for himself, but had enough of a conscience to keep silent about their illegal supplementations of prisoners.

Despite the frustration, they had all acted as if everything was normal, so as to keep provoking Aerys' wrath. They had used the tourney to sound out various nobles and their political stances. Aly had first met Oberyn and danced with him at the opening feast, though she had been more concerned with seeing if she could learn anything of the Vale-Dornish-Storm alliance. They had been concerned, with three kingdoms allied and the knowledge that Tywin Lannister, Hoster Tully and Jon Arryn were negotiating for Catelyn and Lysa Tully to wed Elbert Arryn and Jaime Lannister, though Aerys appointing Jaime to the Kingsguard had stopped the West joining, then at least. They had predicted that the alliance could cause them trouble in the future, but none of them could ever have guessed just how much trouble they would be.

Then Rhaegar had won the joust.

It had all seemed to happen in slow motion. They had all cheered and laughed as Rhaegar sent Ser Barristan to the ground. Little Melara had asked if that meant that Lya was Queen of Love and Beauty now.

"Not yet little wolf," Lya had replied with a bright grin. "My husband has to crown me first." Rhaegar had ridden towards the stands, and Lyanna had begun to rise from her seat, still smiling as the crowd cheered loudly in approval. Then the cheers had died and Lya had frozen in place, her smile (and everyone else's) disappearing into an expression of utter shock and disbelief, as her husband rode past her and gave a crown of yellow poppies to Elia Martell.

That night had been the second time in their life that Aly had seen her sister cry. She had not just cried in fact. She had wept in Aly's arms, raw, heart-breaking sobs that ripped themselves from her chest and made her body shake forcefully. Brand had very nearly killed Rhaegar for his actions, oaths or no oaths. Ned and Ben had been forced to hold him back when Rhaegar had entered the tent, looking stricken with guilt. Her goodbrother had gone on his knees and beseeched forgiveness, swearing that Elia meant nothing to him, that he had seen her upset the night before and sought to cheer her up, he had never meant to shame Lyanna, he just had not thought his actions through.

Lyanna had slapped him, and then she had forgiven him. There had been no more mention of Elia Martell after that. Rhaegar, filled with guilt, had lavished attention and love on his wife. He had held Lyanna's hand as she gave birth, bathing her forehead and ignoring her vicious words as she cursed him for getting her with child. Despite having often expressed a desire to name his firstborn daughter Visenya, he had instead agreed to let Lyanna name her Daenerys, her own preference. He had barely left Lyanna's side as she recovered from birthing the twins, a birth that had very nearly killed her. Aly had known he always worried about how small his House had gotten, and that he had been alarmed by the physicians and midwives warning that the twins' birth might have harmed Lyanna's ability to safely carry a child, but she had not been declared barren and he had said nothing of it.

They had let themselves relax, reassured by his actions that he had been telling the truth when he said that Lady Elia meant nothing to him.

Then, when the twins were but two moons old, word had arrived that Ashara was with child herself, and Lyanna had insisted that Aly go home to Winterfell to help her until the child was born.

Aly had been gone but a fortnight when Rhaegar had disappeared with Elia. He had met up with the whore when she and her family stopped at the then newly-rebuilt Summerhall as she made her way to her wedding at Storm's End, and by the time Aly had arrived at Winterfell, war had been declared and her father was preparing to march. Their advance forces had already left, the Winterlands having their border armies always ready to march at a moment's notice. After Magnar Rickard and Ned had left, she had never seen any of her family alive again save Ned.

All because of Elia Martell the homewrecking whore and Aerys the Mad King. Damn them both to the deepest, darkest depths of hell, be it the Andal seven hells or the dungeons of the Old Gods, Aly did not care so long as they paid for what they had done.

Everyone described Elia as half-a saint, kind and gracious and dutiful. Where had those traits been when she ran off with a married father before his wife had even risen from the birthing bed?

She was so lost in her memories and weeping that she didn't notice Oberyn had arrived until he had rested a hand on her back and spoke in a concerned tone. "Aly?"

She cried out in surprise, twisting sharply and nearly falling off of the bed. He grabbed her just in time, and she spent several moments pressing her hand to her breast and trying to calm her breathing.

"Aly, my love," he murmured, cupping her face and using his thumbs to wipe her tears away. "Are you alright?"

She exhaled shakily and waved him off, trying to compose herself.

"I am well," she claimed, ignoring his disbelieving look. She sighed and gave in, adding an explanation. "It is harder than I expected it to be, being back here." His face softened and he cupped her jaw gently, using his thumbs to wipe away her tears.

"I should not have allowed you to come," he murmured, guilt lacing his tone.

She shook her head. "You shall need my help," she insisted. "This place is a pit of rats, you need somebody familiar with it to help you navigate it. Speaking of which, I thought the meeting would take longer. You were not gone two hours. What occurred?"

He pursed his lips, but allowed the change of subject. "Gods be good, Aly," he sighed, running a hand through his curls. "I knew the situation with the treasury was not the best, but this is utter madness! The Crown is more than six million gold pieces in debt!"

Aly gasped in shock, covering her mouth. "Not to the Iron Bank," she stated. "Not all of it at least. They would never allow so much to be taken without any repayment."

Oberyn stood and began pacing, hands clasped tightly behind his back. "Some to the Bank," he stated. "But there is some three million dragons owed to the Lannisters. Apparently that is the biggest part of it, but there is also money owed to the Tyrells, several Tyroshi trading cartels and even to the Faith. To make things worse, Robert has ordered a great tournament to be held in honour of my appointment as the Hand of the King, though the treasury is emptier than a Lysene merchant's promise."

Aly groaned and pressed her fingers to her temples, stricken. "Dare I ask the prizes?"

He snorted darkly, jaw tight with suppressed fury. "Forty thousand golden dragons to the champion," Oberyn stated curtly. "And then twenty thousand to the man who comes in second place, another twenty to the winner of the melee, and finally ten thousand is to go to the victor of the archery competition."

"Ninety thousand gold pieces," Aly breathed. "And that does not take into account the costs of the feast. It will be as expensive as Harrenhal was, and that was meant to be the biggest tourney of the century..."

"I know," Oberyn grumbled. "'Tis ludicrous! Robert has never been fond of frugality, but this! I cannot understand how Jon let things get so bad."

"It's madness," Aly agreed. Privately, she noted that whatever Aerys' faults, he had been careful with the royal treasury. There were almost never any financial problems during the Targaryens' era. Rhaegar would never have allowed things to get so badly.

Aly held a great grudge against her late goodbrother for his actions towards her sister, but she had _known_ Rhaegar. He'd had his flaws, such as his bewildering lust for Elia Martell when he'd been wed to Lya, who was by far the Dornishwoman's superior, but he would have been a wonderful king. The coin had most definitely landed on greatness for him. He and Lyanna had had such plans... Plans to reform the kingdoms, to give more rights to the smallfolk and base born children, to make it illegal for a man to force himself on his wife or beat her... All of his potential, snuffed out before it could truly bloom the way it should have. The gods could be cruel indeed.

"I will have to speak with Robert," Oberyn sighed. "We cannot afford this tourney. I have not the slightest idea how to convince him of such, however. He has always loathed 'counting coppers'." He made air-quotes around the phrase, making a face of annoyance. Even before their marriage, he had not been the type of throw around coin as if he had a bottomless pit of it available. She guessed it was a result of having originally been a second son reliant on others for his expenses. And wedding her and becoming responsible for Dorne had made him even more careful with it, given she, like most Starks, verged on paranoia when it came to saving their coin. Given that frugality had made the Starks one of the richest houses in Westeros, only beaten by the Tyrells and Lannisters, it had worked out well for them, in her personal opinion.

"Perhaps a compromise may be needed instead, my love," Aly suggested, knowing that saying Robert was unlikely to listen to her husband would be an understatement. She wished that Oberyn would stop thinking of the man as his old friend, and realize that he was dealing with a king now. Kings did not take being told no or contradicted well. He'd end up losing his head if he wasn't careful. But nothing she said would ever make him stop looking at the Usurper as his oldest friend. Perhaps Baratheon really had been a good man once, but war and kingship had killed the boy, leaving a man who thought only of himself behind.

"What?" Oberyn frowned at her. "This is much too expensive Aly, the treasury cannot support it at all. I would think you would understand that better than I. You have always been more careful with money than I am."

"I know, I know," she said soothingly. "But Robert is unlikely to listen to you, you said so yourself."

He huffed and grimaced in acknowledgement of her words. "So then what is your suggestion for a compromise, my wife?"

"A smaller tourney," she shrugged. "As small as you can persuade him to make it. And if you show me the accounts, I will see what can be done to ease the pressure on the treasury."

He sighed and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

"I will get them for you then," he answered. "And take your suggestion of trying to get Robert to at least make the damn tourney smaller if he will not agree to put an end to it entirely."

She nodded, giving a wry half-smile as she noticed the way his gaze had gone to her breasts, slightly exposed by her askew dress. She knew that look, and she knew what they'd be spending the rest of the afternoon doing. Perhaps it would distract her from the recollections playing themselves out on the backs of her eyelids.

She leaned in and wrapped her arms around her neck as she pressed her lips against his, and he swiftly pulled her closer, his fingers going to the laces of her dress.

"Whatever would I do without you?" he muttered as he tugged the strings to undo them.

Aly gave a tired smile and didn't reply, instead pulling off his tunic.


	11. Nymeria II

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Thanks for everyone enjoying this. Keep reading, enjoying and reviewing!**

**Chapter Ten**

**Nymeria II**

_**King's Landing: March 27**__**th**__**, 298 AC**_

Their father was already gone when they arrived to break their fast the day after they arrived at King's Landing. Lady Martell sat at the table with the boys, scolding Arron for speaking with his mouth full, but she still greeted them with a smile, though Meria noticed that it failed to fully reach her tired eyes.

"Good morrow Mother!" Mariah chirruped cheerfully, still full of excitement at being at court. "Where is Father? Is he not awake yet? 'tis a bit late to be asleep still."

"Actually, sweetling, Father had to go to work already," Mother explained gently as they all took their seats. "The Hand of the King has a great many duties, darlings, and your father must familiarize himself with everything and get an update on what has and has not been done since Lord Arryn's death. He shall be quite busy in the next few days, but he will spend time with us when he gets the chance, I promise."

Mariah and the boys looked disappointed, but Meria was pleased to be away from her father. She felt more than a little betrayed by his refusal to allow her and Perros to wed, in spite of the pleas from herself and her stepmother. And then he had decided to make her come to the capital to keep her away from Perros, out of what seemed to be pure spite to Meria. Avoiding him was her top priority at the moment, and would be until he consented to let her and Perros marry.

He_ had _to agree eventually. Her life would be over if she did not marry Perros, she just knew it. She refused to become a septa when she favoured the Old Gods and the thought of living such a life, bereft of a family and children of her own, was very depressing. And Meria was not a fool. She knew that no other man would ever compare to Perros. And it was not as if she would ever be likely to receive such an offer again either. In spite of being treated like a trueborn daughter of House Martell by her family, she was not really one, and few heirs would agree to wed a bastard, let alone one of Perros' rank, one of Dorne's most powerful houses. Her father's refusal was stupid and unfair, and she thought that she might hate him forever for it.

Unless he changed his mind and gave permission. She prayed that Perros would keep his word and not fall in love with another before her father changed his mind.

"Today, when the boys are at lessons," her lady stepmother began as they all served themselves from the platters in the centre of the table. "Us ladies shall all be going on a trip."

"Where to, Mother?" Lia inquired, a hint of excitement glinting in her dark grey eyes.

"We are going to see some old friends of mine," Mother replied vaguely, and refused to answer any more questions. Her siblings chatted lightly with one another over breakfast until Ser Dezial Dalt arrived to collect the boys for their weapons practice, and Mother had the rest of them pull on their boots and cloaks and head off.

Meria couldn't keep herself from stomping sulkily behind her stepmother and sisters as they headed for the carriage. She had no interest in the outing arranged by Lady Martell, and she was fed up with only having her sisters for company. She loved her siblings dearly, but they were all very different from her, and her two closest friends, Jeyne and Jennelyn Fowler, had both been left behind in Dorne.

"Nymeria," her stepmother called. "I am certain that you are not actually stamping your feet as you walk. That is a terribly unladylike thing to do, and no girl under my care would ever act in such a manner, would they?"

It was not her stepmother, who had argued in favour of her and Perros wedding, that Meria was upset with. As such, she forced herself to restrain herself, placing her feet more lightly (_as if you are walking on air, _the memory ran through the back of her mind).

"No, my lady stepmother," she replied. "Never."

Aly turned her head in Meria's direction and gave a wry smile as she raised an eyebrow, but nodded and left the subject be. Spying the tired slump to her adopted mother's shoulders and noticing the way she rested a hand over her stomach, not yet starting to swell from her seventh pregnancy, Meria felt a jolt of guilt over her sulky attitude. Aly was worn out enough already dealing with them all moving to the capital and carrying a child. She didn't need to have to be putting up with Meria's moods on top of everything else.

They arrived at the waiting carriage, where Ser Daemon Sand, their father's former squire and now the captain of their guards, was waiting for them patiently.

"Mother, where are we going?" Mariah pressed impatiently after Daemon had bowed in greeting and helped them into the carriage.

Aly smiled at her, reaching out to run a hand fondly through the top of Mariah's dark curls, careful not to disturb the stylishly done braid that was reminiscent of a crown. "Well, my love," she began, as everyone settled themselves in their seats and the vehicle started to move. "Years ago, when I served as a lady-in-waiting for the court, I often went with Queen Rhaella and my sister to visit the orphanage in the city. They struggled very much, and existed almost entirely on the money we gave them. I still send some money from my personal account when I can. We are going to visit them."

Meria blinked and tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

"You never speak of your time at court," she noted, the words coming without her intending them to. Her stepmother's smile grew strained, her eyes distant.

"Yes," she sighed. "I do not."

Mariah opened her mouth, no doubt intending to press for more information of her mother's time at court, but Lia clamped a hand on her knee and shot her a warning look. Mariah looked about to object, but Lia jerked her head at Aly, who was staring out the window with a pained expression. Mariah looked at her and apparently decided to stay quiet, ducking her head.

Meria bit her lip as she studied her stepmother. It was rare that the woman allowed her true feelings to touch her face, and Meria assumed it was unconscious.

What must it be like, she wondered. To live in the place where her family had been so brutally slaughtered? Meria didn't know the details, but she had picked up enough to know that the deaths of the Starks in King's Landing during the Sack had not been merciful or short.

Abruptly, it hit Meria that her stepmother had wed her father only moons after the Sack. Aly could not have turned seven-and-ten at the time. How had she felt, wedding a man whose sister her own had been scorned and abandoned for? The way the loyalists told it, Elia had willingly run off with Rhaegar, instead of being kidnapped. Did Aly think that that as well? And her father had killed many Northrons during the war, men that Aly would have grown up with as siblings and/or close friends, according to Northron tradition. What must it have been like, to be wedded and be bedded by a man with the blood of your loved ones on his hands?

Meria had never thought of any of that before, and she felt her stomach twist in sympathy for everything her kind stepmother had gone through. Her respect for the woman grew as well. It had to take great courage to cope with such sorrows, and overcome them. Meria didn't think she would be able to do the same, in Aly's circumstances. She resolved, for the sake of her stepmother, to try and stop pouting so much, and to do her best to make things easier for Aly in way she could manage whilst they were in the capital. She was a maiden flowered, not a child Lorie's age.

And perhaps, if she proved that she was mature enough to be a wife, her father would agree to let her marry Perros.

They stayed silent during the ride for Aly's sake, and at last their carriage pulled up outside a ramshackle orphanage. Meria felt her eyes go wide as she stared at the building. She had never seen a place in such a state before. Aly and Oberyn both ensured that Sunspear's treasury always had money set aside to keep Shadow City in good shape, so that the smallfolk they were responsible for did not suffer. There was a specific amount set aside to provide for the local orphanage and pay for apprenticeships for the of-age orphans.

Evidently, the king and queen were not so charitable, because this particular orphanage in Fleabottom was an utter wreck. Meria could not imagine how anybody could possibly live in the place, yet it was obvious that many did.

It was about half the size of Sunspear's stables with stained walls and a roof that looked on the verge of collapsing in on itself. The windows were covered by dirty sheets in the place of curtains, and children of all ages, far too many to be living comfortably together in such a small building, were scattered all around the unkept garden, with voices coming from the inside.

"It was not so bad, back before the war." Her stepmother looked mournful as she gazed at the place. She turned to them, expression very serious. "I want you all to pay attention during this visit," she stated in a soft but firm tone. "And then consider what you think to be burdensome about your lives, and compare them. See how hard things are for you all after this."

Still shocked by the sight of such pathetic lodgings, they all nodded meekly and followed their mother up the dirt path to the door. Children stopped playing at turned to stare at them with wide eyes too big for their gaunt little faces. Meria had been to the orphanage in Shadow City more times than she could count, and things had been very different to this. This was terrible.

Just as they reached the door a thin woman some years younger than Aly but who was aged by stress, appeared in the doorframe, expression wary. But the moment she laid eyes on Aly, her blue eyes went wide and she gasped, covering her mouth in amazement.

"Magnara Aly?" she exclaimed. "Is tha' you? I can' believe i'!"

"By the Old Gods, Jocelyn!" Mother cried back, sweeping the woman into a hug. "You have grown up! The last I saw you, you were but ten namedays old! I can hardly believe that you can still recognize me!"

"'ow could any o' us possibly ferget yerself? Or the princess and the queen?" Jocelyn demanded in return. "Af'er everythin' ya did fer us! Everythin' tha' yer _still_ doin'! Gods know that withou' ya we'd've 'ad to close years ago."

"I am sorry I have not been able to do more," Mother answered as she released the woman.

Mistress Jocelyn scoffed at that and waved the comment off. "Yeh certainly do more than anyone else, I'll tell ya tha', Magnara Aly," she stated. "An' who are these ones then?"

Mother stepped back, gesturing at the rest of them. "These lovely ladies are my daughters: my eldest girl, Aliandra, though we call her Lia, then this is Mariah. These two are my stepdaughters, Sarella and Nymeria Sand, Meria to basically everybody unless she is being scolded. And of course, you remember Myriame Blackwolf, though she is Lady Vaith now. Finally, this is Ser Daemon Sand, the leader of our guards for the day. Girls, this is Mistress Jocelyn. She used to be one of the orphans growing up here, and stayed to help look after the younger children when she became of age to work."

Their governess and the orphanage matron smiled kindly and greeted one another before Jocelyn turned to them.

"'m very pleased ta meet yese all, miladies," Mistress Jocelyn smiled brightly at them, revealing stained and chipped teeth. "All o' ye 're as lovely as yer mother is. Please, come in! Everyone'll be so 'appy tha' yer 'ere fer a visit, Magnara."

"She's not a Magnara anymore, Mistress Jocelyn," Mariah piped up. "She is Lady Martell now, due to her marriage to my lord father."

"Ah, she was born a Magnara a tha Winterlands, an' she'll die one," Mistress Jocelyn replied as they entered the hallway. It was dark, with some old and damaged toys kicked into a pile in the corner and a rickety-looking staircase on which several children of varying ages peered at them with interest. "Elissa, go an' fetch the other matrons, will ye please," the matron called to the eldest child, a young girl around Lia's age with a toddler who was shockingly thin for a babe perched on her hip. "The rest o' yese, get ta yer lessons 'r play, now. 's rude ta gawk at people, as yese all know very well. Ye'll all 'ave the magnara an' 'er daughters thinkin' ye've no manners!"

"Sorry!" they chorused.

"Yes, Mistress Jocelyn," Elissa agreed as the others apologized, turning and trotting obediently up the staircase while the rest of the group drifted off, still casting fascinated looks at them.

They came to a sitting room, or what seemed to pass for one at any rate. There was a threadbare rug, its colours too faded to make out properly, spread out on the floor, where several toddlers were playing with ragged teddy bears and scratched blocks under the supervision of a grey-haired matron who was seated in a rocking chair, her knitting needles clicking softly against one another as she worked on what looked like a blanket. She looked up at their entrance, frowning for a moment before she saw Mother and gasped, surging to her feet.

"Magnara Aly! By the Ol' Gods and the New! What're ya doin' back in this place?"

Mother smiled softly and came over to embrace the elderly woman gently. "Jonquil, it is so wonderful to see you again after all of this time," she murmured. "Please, allow me to introduce my daughters." They went through the introductions again, and a third time when the rest of the matrons, three women named Meredyth, Elinor and Annara all arrived and greeted her stepmother, calling her magnara and exclaiming over her and thanking her for coming and for all of the money she had sent them over the years. Two of the boys were sent to retrieve chairs for everyone. It was a terribly uncomfortable one, and Meria feared it would collapse under her weight, but looking around at the state of the place, she did not dare say a word of complaint.

She recalled the length of silk her father had gifted her with the day before the court had arrived at Sunspear, and how she had been disappointed when her stepmother had refused to allow her to use the design she had wanted, instead insisting on a more conservative one. The argument had seemed vitally important at the time, and now she felt that she must be one of the most selfish people alive, to be so concerned with a design when the people living in the orphanage had probably never even touched a piece of silk before.

"Ya didn' answer me question earlier," Jonquil stated once they were all seated and had been given cups of tea in chipped and mismatched saucers. No biscuits were offered, and Mariah, who had a severe sweet tooth, looked about to complain at what could be perceived as a lack of proper manners, given how they had always been taught to offer some sort of treat to guests along with drinks. Her mother's warning look kept the young girl silent.

"Which question was that?" Mother asked, tilting her head like a bird.

"What're ya doin' in this damned place?" Jonquil demanded. "Nobody with a lick o' sense'd come ta this damned city willin'ly. 's everythin' well?"

"Everything is wonderful!" Mariah blurted out, dark eyes sparkling. The excitement of being in the capital had yet to wear off for her. "Father is the new Hand of the King, so we have all moved here, and we are to live at court, and it is all just like the stories!"

The matrons all gave her certain, weighted looks softened by affection, whilst Mother sighed and her smile grew tight.

"Mariah is correct," she stated. "We are here as my lord husband has been named Hand of the King. But Mariah, my love, what have I said about stories and songs?"

Mariah's smile faltered and she ducked her head. "They are what the world _should_ be like, not what it _is_ like," she repeated what Lady Martell had told them a thousand times before.

"Correct," Mother confirmed, reaching out to run a gentle hand over Mariah's tight braid. Her expression was gentle. "That does not mean we are not going to have a wonderful time," she added, though Meria was sure she was merely saying so in order as to cheer up Mariah. It was a successful effort, and she brightened up.

"Would an' o' yer girls wan' ta go an' play with the little ones while we catch up?" Meredyth, a woman in her forties with a brutal scar across her face and a shake in her work-worn hands suggested.

"May we Mother?" Lia asked immediately. Mariah nodded too, also looking eager.

"You may, but be careful of your dresses," Lady Martell agreed, waving them off. The two darted to their feet and dashed off, braids slapping lightly against their backs. "Sarella, if you wish to read in peace, you might take the book I am certain that you have hidden somewhere on you into the next room, if the matrons are alright with that?"

"O' course, go righ' ahead," Mistress Elinor, who was a few years older than the Lady of Dorne and had a missing arm, agreed warmly. Her blue eyes were tense in spite of her kind attitude, and she and the other matrons had all eyed Ser Daemon warily until Meria's lady stepmother had sent him outside with the rest of the guards. Strangely, they seemed completely fine with Crystal's presence. It was only the men who made them appear wary.

"Meria would you like to stay or go? You must remain on the orphanage grounds if you go off, however." Mother stated.

"I would stay here, if you all do not mind," she replied. They all smiled warmly at her and consented willingly to her remaining. Meria stayed quiet mostly, listening as her stepmother spoke with the matrons about other orphans she had known and updated them on her life over the past fifteen years.

"It warms my heart to know the orphanage is still standing," Aly eventually said with a sad smile. "Queen Rhaella and my sister would be so relieved. I feared so much for you all when I heard of the Sack."

The women all looked pained and grim at that.

"I' was a terrible time fer us all, back then," Jonquil muttered, a haunted look in her grey eyes.

"The Lannisters brought so much destruction and grief to the capital…" Meredyth added, touching her scar and frowning darkly. "They destroyed par' o' the buildin' an' raped some of us…Alyssa and Marya go' pregnan' af'erward and Melessa almost died from 'er wounds…I got this from them, an' Elinor's arm was so badly broken geddin' one o' the babes to safety when the roof fell in on top o' 'er tha' we 'ad to get it amputated. We feared tha' they'd kill the children when they attacked us. I remember tha' I said, do wha'ever ya wan' ta us carers, jus' 'ave mercy and don' 'ur' the children. They took us up on our offer, but a lot o' us very near died. In fac', Joy did die, bless 'er. 'er wounds were too much, an' the local 'ealer was too o'erwhelmed tryin' 'a 'elp e'eryone, she didn' ge' treated in time."

They all looked down, shoulders slumped with sorrow. Aly shut her eyes tightly, putting down her chipped teacup as her hands shook the slightest amount.

Meria swallowed harshly, feeling ill at the story. She had never heard such things before. She'd known of the Sack, but it was entirely different to hear a first-hand account of the brutality of the Lannisters who had taken the city.

"I'm deeply sorry for what happened to you all," her stepmother said, looking anguished as she reached out and gripped Meredyth's hand tightly. "More than I can ever express. If I could have been there-"

"Ya wouldn't bin able ta do anythin'," Jonquil replied, lifting her chin firmly. "We rose from the ashes like tha firebird in the lovely queen's stories, an' now we stand proudly again. Some o' us opened their own businesses, others stayed 'ere to 'elp raise the orphans but we still stand an' tha's what matters."

"I will see if I can increase the money I send you, though it seems that it is not enough," her stepmother stated, looking thoughtful and determined. "I shall think of something else to help..."

"Magnara, we're deeply thankful fer the tha' money you an' the other ladies all send us," Elinor spoke. "'s enough to keep us standin'. Ya do more than anyone else, don' go feelin' tha' ya 'ave ta do more."

"All the same, I don't like the situation we currently find ourselves in regards to the orphanage," Aly answered. "It is far too important to be allowed to fall into disrepair. I must admit, I fail to comprehend why 'tis so bad. I know that things have never been ideal, but this...I admire the work that you have done to stay afloat but what happened?"

"So many children were born 'cause a' the Sack," Jocelyn sighed heavily, eyes dark with grim memories. "An' the Lannister men don' go 'round lettin' women say 'no' ta them. 'ccordin' ta tha' lot, 's a common woman's duty ta serve 'ighborn men any way they demand. The gol'cloaks 're the same, an' the curren' Master o' Laws is too busy bein' a sword swallower ta care 'bout a bunch of common women tryin' a git on with their lives."

Meria paled in horror at that as her mother's expression darkened in anger.

"An' gods ferbid tha' the golden queen give alms," Mistress Elinor added bitterly. "'s far as she's concerned, the commons're nothin' more than dust 'neath 'er dainty fee'. She ain't nothin' compared ta Queen Rhaella or yer lovely sister, may they rest in peace."

"Aye," Lady Martell agreed, voice a bit hoarse. "Certainly, I cannot think of anyone who deserves it more. As to the problem of coin for the orphanage, I'm sure I will come out with a solution for the problem."

"If i' makes ye rest bedder at night, though really we're well." Mistress Jocelyn conceded.

"By tha way," Mistress Jonquil added. "Some o' our friends work at the Red Keep still. They'll be 'appy ta see you again Magnara. An' 'm sure tha' they'd be glad ta provide ya with any information tha' they 'ave, like in tha ol' days."

Meria noted the look that flashed through her stepmother's silver eyes, but couldn't identify it in time before it had disappeared.

Aly smiled softly. "I shall certainly contact them on our return," she murmured with a warm smile. "Now, what were you saying about Matrice? She is truly running her own apothecary now? How wonderful! You must tell me more."

The matrons agreed with smiles, continuing with their discussion on the orphans Aly had known and how Aly's own life had been going for another hour before they left, with Aly promising to return the next week.

Meria herself could not stop thinking of the darkest part of the conversation, and she pulled her stepmother aside when they returned to the Tower of the Hand.

"Should we tell Father what the matrons said?" she asked anxiously. Angry as she was with Oberyn, she knew that he would never tolerate such horrible acts. "About what the Lannister men and the goldcloaks are doing?"

Aly smiled gently at her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I am so proud of you, my darling," she stated. "To be so compassionate and caring over the fates of common women you do not know. Do not be concerned, my love. I fully intend to speak to your father as soon as I can."

Meria relaxed, and went off to her lessons feeling reassured that her father would soon be alerted and that he would get a handle on the situation.

But for the rest of her life, Meria never trusted a Lannister man or a goldcloak.


	12. Jaime I

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. **

**Okay, quick non-story related thing. A reviewer for ASoMS advised me to watch the Order of the Green Hand's videos on YouTube, which I did. This is me, recommending them to everyone else. They make a lot of excellent, well-reasoned and facts-backed points. Okay, thanks.**

**Thanks for your enjoyment, please keep reading, enjoying and reviewing!**

**Chapter Eleven**

**Jaime I**

_**The Red Keep: April 5**__**th**__**, 298 AC**_

He had been trying his very best to avoid Lady Martell. She and the late Princess Lyanna had been identical twins, with very similar personalities although Magnara Alysanne had always been a (on the outside) gentler woman than her She-Wolf sister. The younger of the twin Stark ladies was a She-Wolf also, but not so obvious about it.

Whenever he looked at her, Jaime recalled how badly and epically he had failed the late princess and Prince Rhaegar.

Yet the Starks were stubborn people. He couldn't say that he was surprised when he found himself cornered by the Lady of Sunspear, a razor-sharp smile on her face and her direwolf panting at her heels. Just as Princess Lyanna's beloved Eirwen had once been constantly at the Princess' side, a more faithful and devoted guardian of the lady then any of the Kingsguard ever were. His father's men had shot the wolf full of arrows as she protected her mistress during the Sack. Then they'd later had the wolf skinned and the Mountain now used its' fur pelt as a cloak.

"Ser Jaime!" Lady Martell latched onto his arm as if they were the best of friends. "How delightful! Would you be a dear and escort me back to the Tower of the Hand please? Thank you, you are as good as Lya always said you were. Just as I recall you being as a boy."

"You are nearly two years my junior," he croaked out. Although she had 'asked' him to escort her, she was the one leading as they made their way back to the Tower. The sight of her face sent him back fifteen years to another Stark woman with determination in her eyes and an unyielding expression as she ordered him to leave her to be killed. To save millions in exchange for the lives of the people had been sworn to protect.

"Indeed I am," Lady Martell agreed amiably. "I was four-and-ten when you were admitted to the Kingsguard during the tourney at Harrenhal, my sister just beginning to swell with Aegon and Daenerys." Her grip grew tight, her nails digging into his skin. Dread welled in his chest.

He knew what she wanted, but he had no idea how he would be able to answer her.

"Do you remember them, Kingsguard?" her voice had turned as cold as the lands her family ruled. "Do you recall my sister, how she laughed and jested with you? You were one of her favourite guards, you know. She used to specifically request you guard her if Brandon was unavailable for the duty."

"I remember," he whispered, recalling a vibrant laugh and tussled chestnut curls. Many a time, Princess Lyanna's requests for him to stand guard over herself or her children had spared him the awful torture of standing guard as Aerys raped his wife whilst poor Queen Rhaella begged for mercy. Mercy she had never been given, for Aerys only grew more aroused by her sobs and pleas.

"And her children," Lady Martell went on, voice still sharp with a hint of raw, helpless anger edged with pure grief in her words. "Do you remember how much she loved those children? She was but five-and-ten on their birth, they nearly killed her. Yet she survived, and it seemed to me that the moment they came into the world, they became my sister's world. Do you agree, Ser?"

"I do," he croaked, recalling little Prince Aegon with his dark, solemn gaze and sweet little Princess Daenerys, more commonly known as Dany, and her sparkling laugh. They had been so small, so fragile and innocent.

"Hold them carefully, Ser Jaime," he remembered Princess Lyanna instructing him. "What would be the consequence of a Kingsguard knight dropping the future king?" Her grin had been brighter and more beautiful than even Cersei's. How Rhaegar could have turned to another when he'd had Lyanna Stark as his wife, Jaime would never be able to say. He'd seen Elia Martell once. She had seemed rather plain to him, with a flat chest. Certainly not worth fighting a war over.

The lady of Dorne stopped their progress in an empty hall and turned to face him, releasing his arm and meeting his gaze mercilessly, refusing to all him to look away.

"Where were you?" she demanded, eyes turned to a steel grey. Her twin's eyes had been the same, changing to different shades of grey and silver depending on her mood. "Where were you when my sister and her babes were being killed? You were the only Kingsguard in the capital that day. Where were you when the family you were pledged to protect was being slaughtered and their bodies were desecrated by your father's men?"

The worst part was that there was no anger in her tone. Just a plea for understanding.

Jaime was a twin as well. He'd come into the world clutching Cersei's foot. Nobody meant more to him than his sister. He'd seen how the Stark sisters had interacted, as if they were two halves of a whole. After Magnara Aly had returned to Winterfell, Princess Lyanna had seemed strange and alone even in the midst of a crowd of people, often looking to the side in expectation of a comment from her sister.

Seeing the magnara without Princess Lyanna was the same. It was like looking at somebody missing an arm. Unnatural and painfully wrong. You could not help but ache for them.

He had never spoken of the Sack, not even to Cersei. He could never bring himself to speak of it. But if Jaime owed anybody an explanation for what had happened on the day of the Sack, then he owed Princess Lyanna's twin sister, who was now forced to live a life without a vital part of herself, because of his failure to protect those he had vowed to.

"_I am trusting you with the protection of my wife and children, Ser Jaime,"_ Prince Rhaegar had said to him just before he had mounted his stallion and left the Red Keep for the final time in his too-short life. _"I know that I can count on you to keep them safe until I return. I am trusting you with my family, the people who matter most to me in this world."_

"_I will guard them with my life, my prince,"_ Jaime had replied solemnly.

But he had broken that promise completely. When Princess Lyanna and the babes had needed him most, he'd not been there. It had not been him who had laid down his life to allow Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys to flee Dragonstone with their lives and nothing else intact. By then, he'd already bent the knee and pledged his service to Robert, a fact that he deeply regretted whenever he saw bruises on Cersei after her husband visited her bed.

"Alright," he breathed, nodding his head and trying to summon the courage to speak of the worst night of his life. "Alright."

She watched him expectantly. It seemed as if he were speaking to her from outside his body. Maybe that was best. He could not feel the pain of the memories this way.

"After your brother lost the Battle of the Bells, Aerys finally realized that Robert was no mere outlaw lord to be crushed at whim, but the greatest threat House Targaryen had faced since Daemon Blackfyre. We had won Ashford, and two of the Summerhall battles, but we lost Gulltown and the last one at Summerhall, and then the other skirmishes were roughly even as well. Out of six major battles, we had three victories. Tyrell had besieged Storm's End, but he was making no progress, merely sitting outside eating in sight of the defenders. The Vale, Dorne, Stormlands and Riverlands were united against us, and things had happened so fast that the Winterlands couldn't summon all of their troops.

The king reminded your brother Brandon gracelessly that he held the princess, Lady Barbrey, Lord Benjen and Lady Melara, and sent him to take command of the ten thousand Northmen coming up the kingsroad, the reinforcements sent by your father before he fell in Ashford."

Jaime had no idea why he was telling her details she already knew, but he continued to talk, and she remained quiet, watching him with solemn grey eyes, her hand resting on Crystal's head.

"Prince Rhaegar returned from wherever he had disappeared to and persuaded his father to swallow his pride and summon my father," Jaime went on, still disconnected from his body. "But no raven returned from Casterly Rock, and that made the king even more afraid. He saw traitors everywhere, and you remember how Varys was always there to point out any he might have missed. So His Grace commanded his alchemists to place caches of wildfire all over King's Landing. Beneath Baelor's Sept and the hovels of Flea Bottom, under stables and storehouses, at all seven gates, even in the cellars of the Red Keep itself."

He had only learned the locations later, and he had never dared to either speak of them or look for them to try and remove them. He had no idea what to do with wildfire, and feared what would happen if he were to attempt to move them.

She let out a sharp hiss at his admission, face paling. She had spent longer in Aerys' court than he had, she surely knew that he was not dissembling to make himself look better in spite of breaking his oaths. It was just what Aerys would have thought to be a logical and clever decision.

"Everything was done in the utmost secrecy by a handful of master pyromancers, the fanatics that were utterly devoted to Aerys and his cause of burning the world to the ground. They did not even trust their own acolytes to help. I would be sent away during the meeting. Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys had been sent away, and Rhaegar was busy marshalling an army. Your sister was doing all she could to help the war effort, but after the Trident she was afraid to let Aegon and Dany out of her sight. She feared Aerys would turn his wrath on them, or the rebels would send an assassin."

Princess Lyanna had been so young. Wed at three-and-ten, pregnant by four-and-ten and dead at only fifteen. She had been brave and strong, but her children were her weak point. In the final moons of her life, she had never been seen without one of them in her arms, the other carried by Barbrey or Benjen, who were constantly at her sides. She had barely allowed the nursemaids to look at her children, as if fearing that they would smother the children in their sleep to earn favour with the rebels. Only a select few people whose devotion and loyalty she was utterly certain about were allowed to attend on her children. She had been so very right to fear.

"Lord Chelsted found out what he was doing, and he died for it, and Rossart, you remember him, Aerys' favourite pyromancer? He became the new Hand of the King.

Then, of course, Rhaegar met Robert and your lord husband on the Trident, and you know what happened there. When the word reached court, Aerys got it into his head that Brandon must have betrayed Rhaegar on the Trident, but he thought he could keep the North loyal so long as he kept the princesses and Prince Aegon by his side, so he refused Princess Lyanna's pleas to let her children be sent away to safety. The traitors want my city, I heard him tell Rossart, but I'll give them naught but ashes. Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat. The Targaryens never bury their dead, they burn them. Aerys meant to have the greatest funeral pyre of them all.

Though if truth be told, I do not believe he truly expected to die. Like Aerion Brightfire before him, Aerys thought the fire would transform him . . . that he would rise again, reborn as a dragon, and turn all his enemies to ash."

"He would believe that," she murmured, so softly he barely heard it.

"Aye," Jaime agreed, before going on with the grim tale of his failure. "Your husband was racing south with Robert's van, but my father's forces reached the city first. Pycelle convinced the king that his Warden of the West had come to defend him, so he opened the gates, ignoring your sister and Varys' protests. The one time he should have heeded Varys, and he ignored him. Is that not the height of ironic? My father had held back from the war, brooding on all the wrongs Aerys had done him and determined that House Lannister should be on the winning side. The Trident decided him.

It fell to Princess Lyanna and I to hold the Red Keep, but we both knew that we were lost. The princess and I went to Aerys asking his leave to make terms. She confided in me that she would be glad to bend the knee and even have the twins be declared bastards, just so long as they were alive. She told me that she wanted to take them home, to Winterfell."

He fell quiet a moment, gathering his strength. They were coming to the heart of it now, and he didn't know if he could say it. The memories were so painful. He suspected that he might have been a bit in love with Lyanna Targaryen of House Stark. The Stark sisters had always been easy to fall in love with, with characters as beautiful as their faces.

"Lya was a mother," Magnara Aly remarked quietly. "In her place, I too would gladly have my children be alive and penniless, so long as they were in fact alive."

Jaime nodded and forced himself to go on. "But of course, Aerys would have no yielding. Lord Rossart was with him, when we spoke, and Aerys ordered him to light the caches. Princess Lyanna and I had not known before then what he was planning to do. We were both frozen in shock. Then," he faltered and closed his eyes. It felt as if his throat had a lump the size of a fist in it, keeping him from speaking. "Then, just after the pyromancers left, the princess... She stabbed Aerys in the back, and when he was found it appeared that he was impaled by the Throne. I doubt that she did that, though. Would have taken too long. A servant or something must have done it. I don't know, but it hardly matters now, does it? She, she ordered me to go after the pyromancers, to kill them before they could light the caches. I, I wanted to stay, to defend her, but she insisted that I go and help protect the city instead."

I told her that I ought to remain with her to protect her, that she needed to take Pri-, sorry, King Aegon and the princess and flee. She refused. She said that the children were as safe as they could be under the circumstances, that she had a duty to her people not to run and hide.

Then she said that she was the Queen Regent now, and ordered me to go and kill the pyromancers, and protect the people. I went, and the next time I saw her she was dead.

When I came on Rossart, he was dressed as a common man-at-arms, hurrying to a postern gate. I slew him first. Then I hunted down the others and slew them as well. Belis offered me gold, and Garigus wept for mercy. Well, a sword's more merciful than fire, but I don't think Garigus much appreciated the kindness I showed him."

"You were kinder than many would have been," Lady Martell replied softly.

He didn't pay any attention to her words. He was lost in the memory of the last time he had ever seen or spoken to Lyanna Stark.

"_Your Grace, I am sworn to protect you!" _he remembered the conversation as vividly as if it had just occurred. _"As a Kingsguard-"_

"_And as a knight, you are sworn to protect innocents!" _the short-term Queen Regent had cut him off sharply. Her grey eyes had been almost black, her jaw tight and her dress stained with Aerys' blood. _"Those innocents who are being butchered right now! If the pyromancers light those caches-"_

"_You must leave, Your Grace, I beseech you," _he had begged desperately._ "Take the King and Princess and flee!"_

She had shaken her head, expression resigned and much too old and tired for a lady of five-and-ten. _"My children are as safe as they could possibly be under these circumstances," _she had answered._ "We would never make it to the docks. And anyway, my duty as the Queen Regent is to do anything that I can to keep the people under my protection safe. I shall not go down in history as a craven of a Stark, who fled and abandoned others to die in my place. If I am to enter Valhalla tonight, I shall do so knowing that I fought to the last breath to protect my people, as is my duty as their liege lady."_

"_My queen-"_ he had pled, one last desperate time.

She had stopped with when she reached out to cup his jaw and smile sadly. _"Do not be so worried for me, Ser Jaime,"_ she'd said as lightly as possible given what was going on, which was not light at all. _"I am a Stark and a Targaryen. Neither direwolves nor dragons are easy to kill. Now, go. Protect the people as best you can. They need it more than I."_

She had been right about her claim that she would not die easily. She had fought to her last breath, cutting down a dozen of his father's men before being overwhelmed by the Mountain, and even Gregor Clegane had lost an eye to the She-Wolf's claws.

It always made Jaime burn with anger to hear such a brave and noble, compassionate lady, be insulted and her memory spat on. And why? Because she had obeyed a betrothal made by her parents when she was a child and married into the losing side of a war. Because her husband had run off with another woman and left her and the children she had loved beyond compare without adequate protection or an escape route.

He felt small hands on the sides of his face, and found it being directed so that he was looking down at Lady Martell's serious face.

"I am sorry," he suddenly whimpered. Guilt and shame coursed through him as he slumped to his knees, clutching at the folds of her navy skirts and looking at the floor because if he met her eyes he would see Princess Lyanna's face, filled with acceptance for her fate and a refusal to go down without making her enemies pay for it in blood.

"I am so, so sorry," he repeated. "I should have saved her, I-"

Magnara Aly (it was hard, almost impossible, to think of her as anything else, for all she had been Lady Martell for fifteen years now. The same amount of time that the princess had lived for.) crouched down and looked into his face.

"You bear no shame, Ser," she stated firmly. He blazing fury she had been directing towards him for the past few moons had disappeared. "You obeyed my sister's orders. I have no doubt that you saved dozens of people that night by leaving her and following her instructions. The rebels would never have let my sister or her babes live. I absolve you of any shame you feel you bear. You saved everyone in King's Landing that day by killing the pyromancers."

Jaime let out an unmanly whimper, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He did not feel that he deserved her absolution, but she had given it, and he couldn't not accept it. She was the sole person with the right to give it, and he had no right to insult her by refusing it.

"Ser, you must tell me," her voice grew graver and more determined. "The wildfire caches. Did you ever tell anyone about them?"

He fought through his hazy mind, trying to think so he could answer her. "No, I-Wait! My younger brother, Tyrion. He is the only one I told, and I swore him to secrecy on the matter."

"Does anybody else know of them?"

"I, I do not believe so. Neither Aerys nor his pyromancers would have dared to tell anyone else, and neither did I."

"Do you recall where they were hidden specifically? Are they still there?"

"I don't know where they are beyond what I said already. Baelor's Sept and the hovels of Flea Bottom, under stables and storehouses, at all seven gates, and in the cellars of the Red Keep. That's all that I know of, but there may be others. I suppose that they must be still be there, because nobody could have known to remove them. I never dared to try."

"Thank you, Ser," Magnara Aly stated. "Now, you must make a vow to me. Vow by the Old Gods and the New, by the spirits of your ancestors and my sister and her children, that you shall never reveal to anybody what you know of the wildfire. Not until I release you from your pledge or am dead. Vow it!"

"I swear," Jaime said. "I shall never tell anybody of the wildfire hidden in the capital until you either release me from my oath or else I am released by your death. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New, by the spirits of my ancestors and those of your sister and her children."

She relaxed and nodded, the both of them rising and going their separate ways without another word, agreeing to maintain their silence without a word to one another.

Jaime did not worry that she might make use of the existence of the caches. Not sweet Magnara Aly who had laughed at him and given him her favour at the tourney held for Prince Aegon and Princess Dany's birth, winking at him and instructing him to humble her elder brother a bit. Magnara Aly, who was Princess Lyanna's identical twin in both looks and morals, would never consider lighting those caches.

He hated that he could not say the same of his own sister. Much as he loved Cersei, he had no doubt that she would burn the world to the ground if it meant that she could gain more power.


	13. Oberyn III

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**Chapter Twelve**

**Oberyn III**

_**The Red Keep: April 5**__**th**__**, 298 AC**_

Oberyn glared at the stack of parchment piling on top of his desk. He had been at work as the Hand of the King for less than a full turn of the moon, and he wished more than anything else in the world that he had refused the damn post. He was barely even making any progress, with either the official duties of the post or the unofficial one he had taken upon himself.

He had managed to persuade Robert to make the tourney a fraction smaller, but the king had refused to even halve the damn thing, meaning the Crown had still added another seventy thousand gold dragons to its already unpayable debt. Robert's brother Stannis, the current Master of Ships, had disappeared off to his home of Storm's End with his wife and children in tow just after Jon's death. Despite Oberyn sending several letters, each sterner than the last, the man refused to reply or return.

Oberyn suspected it was pure spite due to him being named Hand instead of Stannis, despite Stannis being Robert's blood brother. Stannis had always resented the fact that Robert preferred Oberyn's company to that of his brothers. Speaking of Robert's brothers, Oberyn was on the verge of dismissing Renly from his position as Master of Laws entirely at this point.

Aly had been more than a little distraught when she'd revealed what her old friends from the orphanage had told her of the despicable actions of the red and goldcloaks. The next day, Oberyn had called Renly to his new office and ordered the younger man to get the City Watch under control. What was the point of having criminals policing the capital, after all? But in spite of him chiding the Lord of Dragonstone on the matter several times over the past few weeks, the indolent man continued to neglect his duties and the women of the city continued to live in fear of being raped by the men supposed to protect them. Were Renly not a Prince of the Realm, Oberyn would have dismissed him and had somebody competent put in his place.

If the man did not make some progress within the next week, then Oberyn really would so. Robert would listen to him on this at least. He had basically told Oberyn to do as he liked, so long as Robert did not have to deal with anything boring.

Robert had always been a lazy Lord Paramount, preferring to allow his steward to do most of his work for him, but he had still done the necessary amount when they were young. In those days, it had been Oberyn who would complain about having to wait for his friend to finish working for them to have fun. He couldn't understand how Robert had lost that sense of duty that Jon had so firmly drilled into them as children.

The taxes of the realm were another problem. The Master of Coin, Lord Baelish, was somebody that Oberyn was completely unfamiliar with. He knew only that he had fostered alongside Elbert and Stannis' wives at Riverrun in his youth, and that Lysa Arryn had recommended him for a position in control of customs at Gulltown. He had successfully increased profits tenfold during his tenure in that post, leading to Jon noticing him and making him the new Master of Coin.

But although Baelish was definitely an adept at handling money, something about the man made feel Oberyn uneasy. He had a smug, arrogant air about him, as if he knew something that everyone else did not, and it should not have taken so long for the reports to come after Oberyn had sent for them. He had ordered them on his first full day in the capital, and only received the last of them three days' past. Baelish had been full of excuses over the delay, but that did not allay Oberyn's suspicions. Aly guessed that the man was probably embezzling money from the royal treasury, and that he had taken so long to deliver the accounts because he was trying to cover it up. He had been going through the accounts as best he could, but he wanted to show them to Aly, and see her opinion on it. She would be better able to tell, given she had had full control over their own kingdom's finances for years now.

A knock broke him from his thoughts and he raised his gaze from the report on the taxes from the Riverlands he had been looking through.

"Who is it?" he barked, glancing at the time. He'd been so busy getting up to date on everything that he needed to know, he had scarcely seen his family in the past couple of weeks, and Aly had taken to having his meals sent to his office for him. If she didn't, he wouldn't eat at all.

Selfish as it was to have brought her to the place that her family had suffered so much in, Oberyn knew he'd never have coped without her. She had been helping him greatly, just as she always had in Dorne, either coming to his office on request or staying up late for him to return and going over the events of the day with him in bed.

"'tis Maester Pycelle, milord," the Grandmaester's wobbly voice called back. "You sent for me?"

"Come in," Oberyn called curtly, setting aside the documents to clear some space on his messy desk as the elderly man trotted in. He resisted the urge to narrow his eyes at Pycelle. Aly had told him of how the man acted, coercing serving women into giving him pleasure and taking any chance he could to molest the women that he examined.

Unfortunately, Oberyn knew that Aly was right when she insisted on waiting to deal with Pycelle. He was an obvious spy, one that they had in their sights and knew whom he was reporting to. The replacement might not be so simple to deal with.

At least they had their own ravens and Scholar Tallhart to oversee any medical care required by one of the family. Oberyn refused to allow any of his children or his wife to be tended to by the foul man.

"My Lord Hand," Pycelle simpered as he bowed. "What might I do for you?"

Oberyn gestured at the seat before his desk as he replied. "I wish to inquire as to how Lord Arryn died. As I am sure you know already, it came as a great shock to me. I received a letter from him only a week before the one announcing his death arrived, and had no indication that anything was wrong. The king also said that Lord Arryn appeared well right up to the day before he died. I wish to know if my late foster father was hiding an illness, and if it might have affected his work."

Pycelle frowned at the last comment. "Affected his work, my lord?"

"Some of his notes are irregular," Oberyn informed him, hoping that the lie did not show in his eyes. It was a plausible enough excuse to question the man, he thought. But lies and games of intrigue had never been his forte. He feared his dishonesty would be seen in his eyes by the experienced courtier.

"I wondered if he were suffering from some illness he was keeping secret from the king so as not to worry him. A sickness that had affected his mental abilities. If 'twas so, then I must know when he first began presenting symptoms of it. I must know how far back the illness was affecting his work, so as to repair any damage done to the work he performed during the period."

"_Do not be deceived by his frail body or subservient demeanour,"_ Aly had warned him._ "The man is a shrewd player of the Game, and whatever else, he has earned those two dozen chains. He is no fool. Take great care with choosing your words around him, Husband."_

"Lord Arryn's death was a great sadness for all of us, my lord," Grand Maester Pycelle said. "I would be more than happy to tell you what I can of the manner of his passing. Do be seated. Would you be so good as to call for refreshments?"

"Of course," Oberyn agreed, lifting a tiny silver bell with his thumb and forefinger and tinkling it gently. A slender young serving girl hurried into the solar. One of the Keep's servants, not one of those he and Aly had brought with them. He didn't recognize her, but she had the colouring of a Westerwoman. There were Westrons everywhere he looked, it seemed.

"What would you like, Maester?" Oberyn inquired before glancing at the girl. "I myself will have a goblet of Dornish red, please. Ah, I fear I do not know your name."

The girl's expression flashed with surprise but she smiled as she curtsied to him and answered in musical tones. "I am Ella Hill, milord."

"Thank you, Ella," he smiled at her. "As I said, some Dornish red for myself. Grand Maester?"

Pycelle had been silent during the quick exchange, but he jolted as if suddenly returning from memories. From Aly's briefing on him, Oberyn thought it more likely that the man was feigning his habit of drifting into memories, and had in fact been watching the interaction intently. It was uncommon for highborn people to pay any attention at all to their servants. At least, in the south it was. In the North, high and lowborns all intermingled, and Aly had brought that with her to Dorne. Oberyn had picked it up from her, and he had noticed the difference. Something as simple as addressing a servant by their name could make them work twice as hard. Treating them as humans who deserved respect and kindness earned a fierce devotion and protective attitude from them.

No wonder the Starks had managed to rule as Magnars of Winter for eight millennia, repelling the dragons' attempts to conquer them with seeming ease. Their people were devoted to them for the care and justice the Starks gave them in return. When the wolves asked their people to fight, they did so without hesitation.

"Iced milk for myself, if you would be so kind, child," Pycelle stated. "Well sweetened."

As Ella went to fetch their drinks, the Grand Maester knotted his fingers together and rested his hands on his stomach. "The smallfolk say that the last year of summer is always the hottest. It is not so, yet ofttimes it feels that way, does it not?" he mused. "On days like this, I envy the northrons their summer snows."

The heavy jewelled chain around the old man's thick neck chinked softly as he shifted in his seat.

"To be sure, King Maekar's summer was hotter than this one, and near as long. There were fools, even in the Citadel, who took that to mean that the Great Summer had come at last, the summer that never ends, but in the seventh year it broke suddenly, and we had a short autumn and a terrible long winter. Still, the heat was fierce while it lasted. Oldtown steamed and sweltered by day and came alive only by night. We would walk in the gardens by the river and argue about the gods. I remember the smells of those nights, my lord—perfume and sweat, melons ripe to bursting, peaches and pomegranates, nightshade and moonbloom. I was a young man then, still forging my chain. The heat did not exhaust me as it does now."

Pycelle's eyes were so heavily lidded he looked half-asleep. "My pardon, Lord Oberyn. You did not come to hear foolish meanderings of a summer forgotten before your father was born. Forgive an old man his wanderings, if you would. Minds are like swords, I do fear. The old ones go to rust. Ah, and here is our milk." Ella returned and placed the tray between them, and Pycelle gave her a smile. "Sweet child." He lifted a cup, tasted, nodded. "Thank you."

"Thank you, Ella," Oberyn added. "Much appreciated."

She flushed and curtsied before leaving. Oberyn took a sip of his goblet before placing it down and looking at Pycelle.

"Now where were we?" the maester asked. "Oh, yes. You asked about Lord Arryn . . . "

"I did." Oberyn took another sip of his wine, trying to hide his unease from his companion. The rheuminess of Pycelle's eyes unnerved him for some reason. Or mayhaps it was the thought of how skilled the man had to be, to survive in the pit of snakes that was the capital throughout the reigns of four kings, yet still manage to convince people that he was a helpless and harmless old man. But Aly swore that he was dangerous, and Oberyn did not doubt her. He had never known her to be wrong about anybody.

He did not like to think about what that meant when it came to Robert's character.

"If truth be told, the Hand had not seemed quite himself for some time," Pycelle said. "We had sat together on the Small Council many a year, he and I, and the signs were there to read, but I put them down to the great burdens he had borne so faithfully for so long. Those broad shoulders were weighed down by all the cares of the realm, and more besides.

Whilst Lord Elbert was doing a fine job running the Vale on his uncle's behalf, the House had been reduced to Lord Arryn, Lord Elbert and the man's young son. Lord Elbert's wife has always had great difficulties with her fertility, and the boy was very frail from birth. The Vale lords were pressing for young Ser Artys to be named as secondary heir to the Vale instead of young Lord Robar. It was enough to weary even a strong man, and the late Lord Arryn was not young. Small wonder if he seemed melancholy and tired. Or so I thought at the time. Yet now I am less certain."

He gave a ponderous shake of his head. "But alas, if he was feeling genuinely ill, he did not come to me, nor to any of my assistants, for an examination. Perhaps we might have done something to aid him, if he had done so."

"What can you tell me of his final illness?"

The Grand Maester spread his hands in a gesture of helpless sorrow. "He came to me one day asking after a certain book, as hale and healthy as ever, though it did seem to me that something was troubling him deeply. The next morning he was twisted over in pain, too sick to rise from bed. Maester Colemon thought it was a chill in the stomach. The weather had been hot, and the Hand often iced his wine, which can upset the digestion. When Lord Jon continued to weaken, I went to him myself, but the gods did not grant me the power to save him."

"I have heard that you sent Maester Colemon away," Oberyn commented, trying to keep any suspicion from his expression. He sipped at his goblet again, enjoying the refreshing taste of the dry wine. No matter what Robert said, Dornish red was far better than Arbor gold and certainly not ale.

Pycelle's nod was as slow and deliberate as a glacier. "I did, and I fear that Lord Elbert will never forgive me for that. Maybe I was wrong, but at the time I thought it best. Maester Colemon is like a son to me, and I yield to none in my esteem for his abilities, but he is young, and the young ofttimes do not comprehend the frailty of an older body. He was purging Lord Arryn with wasting potions and pepper juice, and I feared he might kill him."

"Did Lord Arryn say anything to you during his final hours?" Oberyn asked, putting his goblet down again. "I deeply regret that I was not there with him at the time. He was not alone I trust? Elbert and Robert were there for comfort?"

Pycelle wrinkled his brow. "In the last stage of his fever, the Hand called out the name Robert several times, asking for the king. The king came the moment he learned of the dire state of the Hand, and he sat beside the bed for hours along with Lord Elbert, talking and joking of times long past in hopes of raising Lord Jon's spirits. Their love was fierce to see."

"Was there nothing else? No final words?"

"When I saw that all hope had fled, I gave the Hand the milk of the poppy, so that he should not suffer," the elderly man explained. "Just before he closed his eyes for the last time, he whispered something to the king and his nephew, but it made no sense. The seed is strong, he said. He repeated it several times. I can only assume that his mind was gone by then, painful as that fact is. At the end, his speech was too slurred to comprehend. Death did not come until the next morning, but Lord Jon was at peace after that. He never spoke again."

"This illness that took him," said Oberyn. "Had you ever seen its like before, in other men? It came on so suddenly, and took Jon so swiftly, it is very alarming. Although there has been no other cases, my wife fears a possible epidemic and I would ease her worries. As you know, she is with child, and women are never quite rational in such a state."

He felt guilty speaking so of his wife and most trusted partner, but he could not outright ask if Pycelle believed it to be poison. He tried to pick up any signs of the man's thoughts as he answered, but it was futile.

"Near forty years I have been Grand Maester of the Seven Kingdoms," Pycelle replied. "Under our good King Robert, and Aerys Targaryen before him, and his father Jaehaerys II before him, and even for a few short months under Jaehaerys' father, Aegon the Fortunate, the Fifth of His Name. I have seen more of illness than I care to remember, my lord. I will tell you this: Every case is different, and every case is alike. Lord Jon's death was no stranger than any other."

"So, you have no fears of a contagion spreading? Everything was just the regular death of an aged man?"

"I am certain of it," Pycelle answered with a firm nod.

"Well, that is a relief," Oberyn stated. "And my sincerest thanks for your efforts to save my late foster father. I will remember it."

_And if it turns out that you really did help kill him, then__** I **__will kill __**you**__ in return,_ Oberyn added mentally. He cared not a jot if Pycelle was an old man or not, Jon would have justice.

"You have been most courteous and helpful," Oberyn told him. Then, in an absent tone, he added, "One last question, if you would be so kind. You mentioned that the king was at Lord Arryn's bedside when he died. I wonder, was the queen with him?"

"Why, no," Pycelle said. "She and the children were making the journey to Casterly Rock, in the company of her lord father. Lord Tywin had brought a retinue to the city for the tourney on Prince Joffrey's name day, no doubt hoping to see his son Jaime win the champion's crown. In that he was disappointed. It fell to me to send the queen word of Lord Arryn's sudden death. Never have I sent off a bird with a heavier heart."

The two of them were rising to their feet when another knock came on the door.

"Who goes?" Oberyn called, frowning when Aly's voice came in response. "Come in, my lady."

She entered with Crystal following at her heels, seeming calm on the surface. But Oberyn had been married to Aly for the best part of two decades now. He could pick up on the subtle tells that said to him that something had happened to deeply disturb her.

"My lady wife," he greeted her, reaching out to take her hand by the fingers and raise them to his lips to kiss them softly.

"My lord," she responded, curtseying. She glanced at Pycelle and inclined her head politely, her distaste for him skilfully hidden. Crystal was not so good at hiding her emotions, and she seemed to glower at the Grand Maester, though she was kept from doing anything else by Aly's hand on the top of her head. "Grand Maester. I do apologize for interrupting, my lords. I can return later when you have the time, my lord husband, if that is preferable for you."

"We are just finishing, dear lady," Pycelle answered in Oberyn's place. "I shall leave you to speak with your husband. And, as I told him, you need not be concerned that Lord Arryn's illness was contagious. The time for more cases to appear has long since passed. 'twas the normal death of an elderly man, not the beginning of an epidemic."

"I cannot possibly express what a balm it is to my worries to hear such, Grand Maester," she answered, feigning a look of relief. "My thanks for humouring the foolish concerns of a woman."

"No need, my dear lady," Pycelle answered kindly. "You cannot help the weaknesses of your sex. But you must take care not to worry too much in your state. Your duty to your husband is to provide him with more sons, after all. You mustn't risk the babe you are currently carrying by concerning yourself with matters you are unable to comprehend."

Oberyn was more than a little incredulous and indignant on his wife's behalf at hearing Pycelle's ridiculous speech, but Aly simply gave a meek nod, her eyes lowered.

"Thank you, Grand Maester," he cut in, unable to stop himself. "However, if I deem my wife in need of chiding, I can do so myself. You may go, I am certain that you have numerous duties to attend to, do you not?"

Pycelle frowned briefly but left after the necessary societal niceties.

"Actually!" Oberyn called out as if as an afterthought. "There is one thing I would have you do for me. I should be curious to examine the book that you lent Jon the day before he fell ill."

"I fear you would find it of little interest," Pycelle said. "It was a ponderous tome by Grand Maester Malleon on the lineages of the great houses."

"Still, I should like to see it."

The old man opened the door. "As you wish. I have it here somewhere. When I find it, I shall have it sent to your chambers straightaway."

Aly raised an eyebrow at him once the man was gone. "That last bit was slightly too obvious, husband," she murmured softly as Oberyn rounded the desk and pulled her into his arms, feeling a great amount of his tension ease when she wrapped her arms around his neck and accept the kiss he bestowed on her, ignoring her comment in favour of kissing her deeply.

She pulled back first, expression grim. "My love, we need to talk," she stated.

"Talk later," he suggested, reaching to grip a handful of her ass in his hand. "You have certain duties as my wife, and they have been neglected."

She did not roll her eyes or give into him as she typically would. "No, husband," she insisted. "This is important. We must speak."

He sighed and gave in. Clearly, this was very grave indeed, and he was now getting worried. Any desire to have her fled, replaced by worry over the restrained panic he could now detect in her lovely eyes, which had darkened to an iron shade.

"What is it?" he inquired.

"_**First of all," **_she spoke in Rhoynar. He had no idea when she'd had the chance to learn it, but she had managed to get a basic grasp of it within moons of arriving in Dorne, and by now she was well past fluent.

_**"Step over here to the window, husband, if you would be so kind," **_she requested.

_**"Why?" **_He raised an eyebrow at her. She met his gaze steadily, inclining her head towards the window again. _**"Come, and I shall show you, my lord husband."**_

Frowning, Oberyn crossed to the window. Aly made a casual gesture, as if she were emphasizing something she was saying with her hands. _**"There, across the yard, at the door of the armoury, do you see that boy by the steps honing a sword with an oilstone?"**_

_**"What of him?"**_

_**"He reports to Varys. It seems that the Spider has taken a great interest in the doings of our family." **_She shifted in the window seat. _**"Now glance at the wall. Farther west, above the stables. The guardsman leaning on the ramparts?"**_

Oberyn saw the man._** "Another of the eunuch's whisperers?" **_He moved casually, reaching out to caress his wife's breast and leaning down in order to have his face shielded from view by her shoulder. To anybody watching, it would hopefully appear as if he were kissing her neck. She moved her head, as if she were nibbling at his ear.

_**"No, this one belongs to the queen. Notice that he enjoys a fine view of the door to this tower, the better to note who calls on you. There are others, and I have only managed to discover a few. The Red Keep is full of eyes, my love. We must take great care."**_

Oberyn had no taste for these intrigues._** "Seven hells,"**_ he swore. It did seem as though the man on the walls was watching them. Suddenly uncomfortable, Oberyn picked her up by her hips and carried her over to the wall to seem to be kissing her against it, relieved to have moved away from the window. They couldn't be seen from it now.

_**"Is everyone someone's informer in this thrice-cursed city?"**_

She gave a dry laugh. _**"If they are not, then they have them. 'Tis the only way to survive the Game of Thrones, Husband."**_

"_**I do not wish to play,"**_ he declared sulkily, as if he were a child Arron's age.

"_**Then we should never have left Sunspear, my lord," **_she retorted unsympathetically._** "But now, we have something more to worry over."**_

"_**By the gods, do we not have enough concerns?" **_he demanded bitterly.

"_**Clearly, the gods do not think we do,"**_ she answered simply.

Then she revealed what she had learned from Ser Jaime, and Oberyn felt his heart stop in his chest from sheer horror.


	14. Aegon II

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**Thanks to everyone enjoying this story, I know I keep saying this but I really am delighted! Also, I made a tweak to the ages of Catelyn and Stannis' youngest children, just a small thing but I wanted to mention it.**

**Keep reading, enjoying and reviewing!**

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Aegon II**

_**The Triarch's Tower, Volantis: May 18**__**th**__**, 298 AC**_

"Good luck, my love," Talisa smiled at him brightly as he smoothed down his black robes, embroidered with red dragons, preparing to enter the audience chamber to meet the Triarchs and plead his case to them. "My father is your ally, remember. Just remember the plan, and everything that we have gone over, and all shall be well, I know it."

"You'll do wonderfully, Brother mine," Dany added, her eyes shining with excitement.

"Just keep your composure and everything will be fine," Grandmother said firmly. "You are the blood of Old Valyria and the Kings of Winter, two of the oldest and most powerful lineages in the history of the world itself. You yourself are the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. You can do this. You _will_ do this."

"The Gods are on your side," Ser Bonifer stated next, in the same uncompromising tone that his wife had used. "The Seven have given you the tools you need to succeed, but it is up to you to use those tools in the correct way, and I have complete faith in your ability to do so."

Everyone glanced at Viserys, who was the only one left in the family yet to speak. Joy and Joss had been left at home, deemed too young by their mother for the seriousness of the occasion.

"What?" his uncle shrugged. "Egg is Egg, he needs no advice from me. He was born for this sort of thing. By the time he's finished, the Triarchs will be as determined to see us returned to Westeros as we are. If only so they no longer have to deal with us nagging them for audiences and support." The last part was added alongside a grin and a cheeky wink, and made them all give various signs of amused and fond exasperation.

You could always count on Viserys to lighten the mood when it was tense.

"King Aegon?" the herald stepped out of the chamber and came over to their group. "The Triarchs shall see you now."

He nodded politely to the man and thanked him. He paused just long enough to kiss Talisa's lips and the cheeks of his sister and grandmother, shook hands with his stepgrandfather and Viserys, and then he followed the older man to the chamber.

"Aegon, Head of House Targaryen, the Sixth of His Name, King-in-Exile of the Rhoynar, the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Defender of the Faith, Protector of the Realm and Lord of the Old Blood of Valyria!" the herald announced him as he made his way down the elegant and soft red velvet carpet to the dais on which the three rulers of Volantis were perched on three ornate gold thrones, each placed to ensure that the trio were at equal heights. Technically, they were meant to seem equal, but in reality things were much more schewed.

He had needed to add the last part to his official titles as King in order to have this meeting. Only members of the Old Blood nobility were entitled to request personal audiences with the Triarchy. Everybody else had to go through intermediaries who decided whether or not they would be sent to meet with the rulers of Volantis. Falsely claiming to be one of the Old Blood was a serious crime here. Thankfully, the Targaryens had purer Valyrian blood than many behind the Black Walls, so Aegon did not need to be concerned. It had still taken years of first Rhaella and then in the past year he himself petitioning for an audience, as well as his marriage, for their requests to be granted at last.

As he approached, Aegon's eyes rested on each of the trio for a moment, identifying them and going over what he knew of them one last time.

First was Malaquo Maegyr, the oldest, most powerful of the three and Aegon's goodfather. He had been re-elected as triarch many times and was the leader of his party. Though he was old and toothless, he was a tiger still, eager for war and glory and firmly on the side of the old aristocracy remaining in, and gaining more, power. Aegon knew that he would be able to rely on the man's support due to the babe they had just learned was growing in Talisa's belly. Malaquo was eager for his future grandson to sit on the Iron Throne, and he could refuse his daughter, his youngest and only living child out of ten, nothing.

For Talisa and the babe's sake, Malaquo would support Aegon's cause, and Parquello Vaelaros, the second tiger in the Triarchy, would support his party leader.

Vaelaros himself was nothing special. He had gained his position due to the tigers working together for once and dedicating all of their efforts towards having a majority in the Triarchy. By only putting up two candidates, one of which was of course Malaquo, and pooling together their resources to make outstanding spectacles of their campaigns, the tigers had managed to gain a majority in the council for the first time in three centuries. Vaelaros had been chosen to be their second candidate because he was malleable and sycophantic, willing to obey others' wills so long as he was the public figure and received the accolades.

That did not mean that Aegon shouldn't keep a wary eye on the man, however. Vaelaros wanted to remain in power, and he had stepped over the bodies of his enemies to get to where he was. If he failed to find an advantage for himself (and for Volantis) in Aegon's proposal, then he would go against it.

The third member was the sole elephant in the Triarchy, Nyessos Vhassar. He would not be a problem. Had Doniphos Paenymion remained instead, there might have been trouble, but Vhassar was weak and Aegon was unconcerned about him.

According to Howland Reed, the Master of Whispers for Aegon's Small Council, the man was owned by a wealthy Pentosi magister, Illyrio Mopatis, eight times over. So long as trade with Pentos, which was where Mopatis gained his wealth, was unaffected, Vhassar would not go against the wills of the tigers. He was too eager to keep his position and his life.

Volantene politics could be very bloody at times.

Mopatis himself was a contact and old friend of Varys, apparently, meaning that Vhassar's information on Aegon's family went first to the magister and then to the Usurper's spymaster. But that was being dealt with. Wargs intercepted any letters sent to the Spider by his Pentosi friend, and they were altered as necessary if there was any information on the Targaryens in it, and vice versa. After so many years, they had it down to an artform.

There were many advantages to having a greenseer and a warg as his spymaster.

"Honourable members of the Triarchy, I thank you for being so gracious as to meet me this fine day," Aegon began after clearing his throat. He inclined his head as he spoke, enough to be respectful and acknowledge their exalted positions whilst at the same time keeping himself from being overly subservient and giving them power over him.

They would help him, he was certain of that. But they would also want their investment to be worth the effort, and he couldn't allow himself to be tricked into giving them too much. This was Aegon's first real test as King, and he could _not_ afford to fail it. Thankfully, he had prepared for this meeting with utmost care, taking into account the advice of his council, his family and most importantly his wife, who understood the politics of Volantis better than any of his company ever would manage to. Their plan _would_ work. It _had_ to.

"Welcome, Aegon of House Targaryen, Member of the Old Blood," Malaquo greeted him in return, also inclining his head the same amount. "What business do you bring before the Triarchy of Volantis on this day?"

"Business of war, my lords," Aegon responded. "I come before you to seek the aid of Volantis in regaining the Iron Throne for myself and my House, removing it from the grasp of the Usurper who unlawfully rose against his sworn liege lords and stole it from my line."

"And why should we grant this request, Your Grace?" Vaelaros inquired. "What aid do you have from your own kingdom, or do you wish for the army of Volantis to fight a war entirely on your behalf without aid from your own people? What benefits will we gain from this enterprise?"

"First of all, I shall address your question in regards to my resources and support," Aegon began. "I have the guaranteed support of the Crownlands, the Winterlands and the Reachlands for my campaign. My people have been in contact with them secretly for many years. Between the three armies, I have at least one hundred and twenty-one thousand, three hundred swords. I also have the fleet that fled with me to the Free Cities, some fifty ships with another two fleets to be supplied by the Reach and North upon the beginning of the campaign. I have also secured the support of the Company of the Rose, who add another two thousand men to my cause."

He could see that they were impressed, eyes flickering in interest. The amount was clearly more than they had expected, and Aegon was giving them the lowest estimated amount of numbers for the army, just in case. The two tigers had glints in their eyes, anticipating the possibility of glory. Vhassar was less interested, his expression cautious. But Aegon had something in mind to sweeten the pot for the elephant party also. After all, he was not naïve enough to think that he would have won his war for Westeros before the next re-election. Wars were not won in days, after all. Especially not when you had to sneak an army across the Narrow Sea into the enemy's territory, and given the importance of surprise in his battle plans, secrecy was very much a priority. As such, Aegon had come up with motivation for Volantis to continue funding him after the re-election, even if the balance of power turned back to the elephants' favour once again.

"As to what benefits you will gain by supporting me," he continued. "You will have a Queen of the sunset kingdoms of Volantene lineage. Our son will be half-Volantene. I am a Targaryen, that is true. But my mother was a Stark of the North, and there is a saying in the Seven Kingdoms: The North Remembers. When I have regained the Iron Throne I will remember my friends, the people who helped me and stayed by my side throughout my and my family's long years of exile and I will remember my enemies, those who drove us from our home fearing for our lives and those who hampered my efforts to regain what is rightfully mine.

This is my proposal: I intend to reform the Small Council on regaining the Iron Throne, expanding it. Should Volantis agree to support my efforts to reclaim Westeros, then one of the seats that I shall add will be a position of Ambassador for Volantis. Whomever the Ambassador will be shall be the choice of the Triarchy, and they will be one of the King's advisors, and be able to advocate on Volantis' behalf.

Volantis will be allowed to sell all of your products without paying customs taxes for period of three years after the war's end, or until such time as the investment you give me is repaid, and you can sell whatever you desire except for slaves, as slavery is illegal in the Seven Kingdoms. Trade with Volantis will be given priority for the same amount of time."

Vhassar looked pleased by this, and Aegon knew he had his full support now, instead of just his reluctant acquiescence. That was excellent, it meant that he would advocate on Aegon's behalf with the other elephants. Though the Triarchs were the rulers, the other politicians had varying levels of influence also, and Aegon wanted whomever gained the seats next year to be on his side as well.

Now they had come to the last part of his offer. Here, Aegon paused to take a deep breath in and then exhaled in preparation of what he was about to do. Once he said the words, there would be no going back. This was a controversial part of the deal, one that only a few people knew about.

They were all a bit uncertain about it, but eventually they had decided to go ahead with the offer. The desire for vengeance burned in their blood. The Lannisters had shown no mercy to the people in the Red Keep during the Sack, had been deliberately vicious in the way they had slaughtered the innocents in the capital, and so Aegon would show no mercy to the lions either. They would learn what it meant to wake the dragon.

"In addition, at the end of the war, any of age male member of House Lannister will be given to Volantis as slaves. You will be able to do as you please with them, so long as they are removed from Westerosi lands, and are prevented from ever returning."

That surprised them greatly. Even Malaquo, who was an expert at hiding his true thoughts behind a congenial attitude, lost his small smile and his eyes widened in shock at the offer. That confirmed, in Aegon's mind, that his wife had not been giving her father (too much) information on his plans. It was reassuring to know that he really could trust her.

"You would indulge in slavery?" Vhassar demanded in shock. He himself had over three hundred slaves. One of them was ever present at his side, holding a tray of dates and a jug of wine, ready to refresh his master. "_You?_ A Westerosi follower of the Old Gods?"

Aegon nodded. "On this singular occasion, for these particular traitors, yes I will," he confirmed. It made him smirk darkly to contemplate Tywin Lannister, the man behind his wonderful mother's murder, being reduced from the Warden of the West to a piece of property, and most likely a cheap piece of it as well, given the man's advanced age and lack of manual skills. Aegon's grandmother had known the Old Lion well, and she had told him that nothing mattered more to him than the legacy and power of his House.

Aegon laughed coldly to imagine the man's feelings when he learned of how Aegon intended to eradicate House Lannister, to grind its memories to ash. The adult males would become Volantene slaves, the women would be married to people that Aegon could trust. As for the children, it was regrettable that they would suffer, but Aegon could take no chances. The girls would be put in septs, the boys would be sent to the Wall, the Citadel or the University. All would be bastardized, and House Lannister would become extinct.

In the history books, it would be known only for its failures, the way it shamelessly murdered women and children and broke oaths, all in the name of gaining power. They would be an example of what happened to those who crossed the Targaryens.

One of the first sellswords who had joined Aegon's army was Lord Jason Tarbeck, the son of the late Rohanne Tarbeck and her husband, both of whom had died when Tywin Lannister had marched on Castamere. Rohanne had sent her son away to safety with a trusted maid, who had fled to the Free Cities with a great deal of House Tarbeck's wealth. The man was now grown with a family, aware of his heritage, and as eager for revenge for his own kin's death at the Lion's paws as the Targaryens were to gain justice for theirs.

Aegon planned to make him into the new Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and the Warden of the West as a reward for the past twelve years of loyalty. It was fitting, that the son of Tywin's first victims took his place when Tywin fell from power. And should Jason fall in the war before that could occur, then Aegon would give the title to his eldest son, Andros Tarbeck, instead.

He was toying with the idea of giving Casterly Rock to them as their new seat too, just to spite the lions even more, but on the other hand he could simply burn the place down to fully eliminate all traces of the family. He had yet to decide, but there was lots of time to do so. Tywin Lannister would see his precious legacy turn to dust and fall through his fingers for his sins.

As Dany had once said philosophically: somebody should have told the Old Lion that the higher you rise, the harder and longer you fall.

"What of the other the Great Houses that rose against your family?" Vaelaros asked, tilting his head like a bird. "Will you give us the Baratheons also?"

Aegon shook his head firmly. "The male Baratheons will be sent to the Wall if they are above age, or else to the Citadel or to join the Faith if they are below it," he began. "The women will all be either sent to motherhouses or wed to men I trust. Their House will be stripped of the Lord Paramountship of the Stormlands, and I will give it to my uncle, Prince Viserys, Lord of Summerhall. The same for the other Houses who refuse to bend the knee."

"Including the Martells?" Maegyr inquired slyly. Vhassar looked confused for a moment, evidently uncertain why the Martells were of particular note amongst the rebels.

Aegon sighed. This was a difficult topic. "The Martells are my kin," he explained. "The Usurper's Snake, Oberyn Martell, wed my mother's twin sister Alysanne after the end of the War of the Usurper, in order as to hold her hostage and keep my uncle from fighting back against the Usurper. She has borne him seven children, and my spies tell me she is with child once again. Though I fully intend to have the Snake's head for killing my father and fighting against my family, punishing all of us for the actions of one madman, I will not punish my cousins.

The suffering of my aunt at the Snake's hands are not their fault. For the sake of my aunt, I will spare her children any punishment for their father's actions, though I may remove the title of Lord Paramount from them and give it to the Daynes, who fought for my House in the war and have pledged their aid to my cause already."

He was almost definitely going to do that, actually. The Daynes had all suffered greatly for their loyalty to his House, and he intended to see them compensated for what the Usurper had put them through. The only thing that kept him hesitating was his kinship with the current Ruling House of Dorne.

"I will certainly be restoring the Wardenship of the South to the Tyrells, as the Usurper had no right to strip them of it in the first place," he finished.

The triarchs nodded in acceptance of his words, and looked at each other. Then they returned their attention to Aegon, who tried to hide that he was holding his breath in anticipation.

"Very well," Malaquo said. "Explain your plan to us, and tell us what part Volantis plays in it."

Aegon could not help but smile widely. He had done it, he had just passed his first test of kingship. Victory tasted sweeter than pure honey on his lips.


	15. Aliandra II

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**Thanks, I'm glad everyone is enjoying this and liked the interlude! Interlude 2, showing events during the Rebellion itself, is also written and will be posted soon enough.**

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Aliandra II**

_**The Red Keep: May 20**__**th**__**, 298 AC**_

Her father had been arguing with the council again. Lia could see it on his face when he came to table, late again, as he had been so often, if he came at all. He hadn't for the first two weeks.

The first course, a thick sweet soup made with pumpkins, had already been taken away by the time that Oberyn strode into the Small Hall. They called it that to set it apart from the Great Hall, where the king could feast a thousand, but it was still big enough for two hundred to eat together comfortably.

"My lord," Mother said when Father entered. She rose to her feet, and everyone else rose with her, the guards' new uniforms gleaming.

Each man wore a new cloak, light orange wool with a border of gold and red satin twisting in and out of each other. Beneath the cloaks they had tunics of orange cotton and brown breeches tucked into black leather boots. The crest of House Martell was on one breast, the symbol of the Hand on the other. Another hand of beaten gold clutched the woollen folds of each cloak and marked their wearers as men of the Hand's household guard. There were only about eighty of them, plus the family, so most of the benches were empty. Lia had gathered that the people of King's Landing thought it was rather a lot of guards to bring, but she felt much safer, knowing that the men protecting her family were Dornish and loyal to the Martells, not the lions who had slaughtered her mother's family.

"My lady," Father replied, grasping Mother's fingers to kiss her palm as he took the seat beside her and waved for everyone to re-seat themselves.

"Be seated," he ordered.

"Forgive us for beginning without you, Husband," Mother murmured as they sat back down. "We were uncertain if you would be able to join us this evening."

He dismissed her apology, grabbing her fingers to press a kiss to their tips. "No, you did the right thing. What a relief it is to me to see that being in this city has not stolen your sense from you, my lady. It seems to have done so for everybody else in this place." He signalled for the meal to resume. The servants began bringing out platters of ribs, roasted in a crust of garlic and herbs.

Mother gave a dry smile. "I have experience with this place, my lord," she responded. "I know the right tricks to keep your sanity." She glanced at the serving girl who had just put down her platter with a smile. "Thank you, Clarisse, and some more water please. The babe seems to have developed a distaste for wine."

"Yes, milady, right away," the maid curtsied and scurried off with Mother's empty goblet.

Lia watched, troubled, as her father gave her mother a tender, concerned look and leaned in to whisper something into her ear, prompting Mother to smile and reply softly, shaking her head. Was their affection truly genuine? Lia wondered for the millionth time. It _appeared_ to be so, but how could her mother love the man who had killed the goodbrother she loved? The man whose sister had seduced said goodbrother into abandoning his lawful wife? The longer she dwelt on the matter, the more troubled Lia became.

"The talk in the yard is that we are to have a tourney, my lord," Daemon stated as he speared a rib. "They say that knights will come from all over the realm to joust and feast in honour of your appointment as Hand of the King."

Lia could see that neither her father nor her mother was very happy about that, their previous pleasure disappearing at the mention of it. Father scowled outright in irritation, whilst Mother's lips thinned in disapproval.

"Do they also say this is the last thing in the world I want to happen?" Father huffed. "I hate tourneys. Have for years." His expression was dark.

Lia could guess what had turned him against tourneys, when she had heard of his reputation for jousting and even fighting in the melee when he was younger. He had competed in a dozen, been champion more than once, yet he had suddenly stopped competing in them around the time of the war's beginning. So many things led back to Harrenhal, it seemed. Perhaps the rumours were true, and the place really was cursed.

Despite their parents' unhappiness, Mariah's eyes had grown wide as plates. "A tourney," she breathed. She was seated between Lady Vaith and Sarella, three seats away from Lia. "Will we be permitted to go, Father, Mother?"

"I do not think so, Mariah," Mother frowned. "Tourneys are useless wastes of money. Men bloodying themselves for temporary glory and coin they usually end up spending within the week. I do not like the thought of you girls seeing them, they can be very dangerous. Some of the things that occur are not a fitting sight for the eyes of somebody your age."

"I agree with your mother," Father nodded. "It seems that I must arrange Robert's games and pretend to be honoured for his sake. That does not mean that I must subject my children to this ridiculous waste of time and coin."

"Oh, please," Mariah pouted. "I want to see. I have never been to a tourney before."

"And for good reason," Mother answered.

"I want to go as well," Lia added. "I want to watch them jousting, please Mother." She did not look at her father, fixing her gaze imploringly on Mother instead. She knew that they noticed, and her parents exchanged quick looks with one another.

"I want to participate!" Lewyn said eagerly, only to pout when his suggestion was immediately shot down by both parents at once.

"Please can we go?" Meria begged, even deigning to give an imploring look to Father. As always, he began to hesitate when Meria spoke in favour, though Mother maintained her unyielding expression. Father could never deny Meria anything, so Lia knew that they almost had him with her support. "Just this once, just to see what it's like."

"I would like to go as well," Dorren added thoughtfully. "'tis one thing to read of tourneys, and another thing entirely to see one with your own eyes. I am curious, after everything that I have read of them."

Sarella too voiced her desire to go and watch. It was rare for all of the Martell children, each with a different personality and different interests, to be united in their desire to do something, and Lia could tell that it was making their parents hesitate. They had good parents, she knew that well despite her current upset with her lord father. It was rare that they were denied something they truly wanted, though sometimes they might be forced to compromise.

Lady Vaith spoke up, sounding reluctant. "All the ladies of the court will be expected at a grand event like this, milord, my lady, and as the tourney is in his lordship's honour, it would look queer if your family did not attend."

Their parents looked pained, but Mother gave a reluctant nod.

"Myriame is right, Oberyn," she sighed. "The royal family will be insulted should we fail to make an appearance."

"I suppose that you are correct," Father conceded with a deep crease between his brows. "Very well, I shall arrange a place for all of you."

Mariah clapped in excitement, the boys spoke with enthusiasm and Dorren and Sarella began telling stories they had read of previous tourneys to the eager children.

"Will you be wanting to compete also, my little Kelpie?" Father leaned over to speak teasingly to Lia with a grin. "You can always join the races on Aeolus, if you desire. Gods know that nobody can outrace you on any regular steed, let alone him."

Lia had always loved to ride, so much so that her mother claimed that she'd think she was born on a horse, had she not given birth to Lia herself. Her father had started calling her a kelpie, for the legendary Rhoynish creature, a horse-shaped creature that lived underwater, when she had, at six, scared the life out of her family by riding bareback and alone to the beach. She'd been found galloping through the shallow part of the water by some guards, and the spanking she had earned as punishment for running off had left her with a red bottom for a full day.

And, as a reward for her skill, her mother had had a unicorn imported from Skagos, a mare named Snowflake for her. Snowflake had later born the first sand unicorn, Aeolus, after a sand stallion had hopped the fence into her field. Aeolus had grown twice as quick as a regular unicorn, which was already faster than any normal horse, and was endowed with the best qualities of both sides of his heritage. His birth had started a new business for House Martell, with multiple unicorns and various breeds of horses being purchased by them in order to breed the new animals with each other and sell them, causing a boom in their exports. Aeolus, meanwhile, had been given to Lia in Snowflake's place, as the unicorn mare was needed for breeding. Lia adored him, took care of him herself, and never went a day without riding him if she could help it. She had entered on him in three races during various celebrations since her parents had deemed her old enough to do so, and won each of them.

She glanced at her father, seeing him waiting for her response, a hint of something she could not quite decipher in his eyes. Hurt at her continued coldness to him? Hope that she might accept this particular olive branch where she had refused the previous ones? She knew that she was hurting him by ignoring his attempts to reach out to her again, but she couldn't stop thinking of what had happened to Aunt Lyanna and how it was all down to him, his best friend and sister.

Not even a full year ago, she would have grinned right back and insisted that she could easily outrace any opponent she faced. Then he would toss his head back and laugh loudly, while Mother gave a fond sigh and bemoaned Lia's tomboy nature. But Lia always knew from her expression that, while it truly did frustrate her mother, Aly still loved and accepted her in spite of it. Maybe even because of it.

But this was not a year ago, and Lia felt her stomach twist itself into a tight knot when she looked at her father. She turned to her mother instead, not replying to him.

"Mama, my head hurts," Lia complained softly. "Might I be excused early to go and lie down?"

"Do you feel sick my love?" Mother frowned in concern as she turned away from where she had been scolding Arron for neglecting his vegetables, reaching out to press a hand to Lia's forehead to check for a fever. "Very well then," she said after confirming that there was none. "Go and rest, my darling desert she-wolf. I will come and check on you in a while, alright? Or would you like me to come with you? Do you feel as if you will swoon?"

Lia shook her head, ignoring the feel of her father's eyes on her. "No, Mama," she murmured. "I just want to lie down."

"Alright, sweetling," Mother kissed her forehead. "I will come as soon as I have finished eating. I shall ensure that the others are quiet heading to bed tonight, so that you can have some peace."

"Thank you Mother," Lia replied. She rose, curtsied and said goodnight to everyone (still careful to avoid meeting her father's eyes) and then fled the hall, relieved that he had not intervened to make her stay and converse with him.

He acted as if he was a good person, as if he cared and loved Mother but it was a _lie_. It had to be, otherwise he would not have yelled at her. He pretended that Aunt Elia had been a good person as well, but _that_ was a lie as well. He had admitted to Mother that Elia had gone willingly, so clearly she was not the good woman that he claimed she was. So many people had died because of her selfishness, and Mother had lost all of her siblings except for Uncle Ned. Even though he lived, she had still lost him too in a way, because she'd been forced to marry Father. And their marriage had not been to mend the ties between the realm as they had been brought up to believe but to have a hostage to force Uncle Ned to stay in line.

Her footsteps gathered speed as she made her way to her bedchamber, tears stinging at her eyes at the thoughts that raced through her mind.

Father was a liar and terrible and she hated him!

Her bedchamber was the only place save Aeolus' stable that Lia liked in all of King's Landing, and the thing she liked best about it was the door, a massive slab of dark oak with black iron bands. When she slammed that door and dropped the heavy crossbar, nobody could get into her room, not Mother or Lady Vaith or any of her siblings or her lying father, nobody! She slammed it now.

She went to the window seat and sat there sniffling, hating her father fiercely, and wishing she could turn back time to before she had overheard that damned conversation. Wishing that she could go back to thinking that her father was the best, most honourable man alive and she didn't doubt his love for Mother, or Mother's for him. Lia looked out of the window, dreaming of climbing out of it and going to the stables, saddling Aeolus and riding all the way back to Sunspear. She wanted to go home, not stay in this awful place where her kin's murderers profited from their deaths.

A soft knock at the door behind her turned Lia away from the window and her dreams of escape. "Lia," her father's voice called out. "Open the door. We need to talk."

"Go away!" she cried. "I don't want to talk to you, ever!"

"Aliandra," it was Mother's voice this time. "Let us in right now, young lady. You are a daughter of House Martell and House Stark. You will obey your lord father and not speak to him in such a disrespectful manner. Now open the door."

Suddenly furious, Lia jumped to her feet and stormed over to let them in. She glared at her father mercilessly when she opened the door.

"Leave me alone!" she hissed at him. "I hate you!"

"Lia," his voice had softened a great deal once she opened the door. "May we come in? Please?"

Her jaw was clenched, but she stepped to the side and allowed them entrance before snapping the door shut again. She stormed back to her bed and through herself face down on it, hugging her pillow tightly. She stiffened when she felt the mattress sink as her parents sat down on either side of her, and growled in anger when she felt her father rest his hand on her back to rub it. She deeply resented that it was as comforting as when she was a little girl, upset over one thing or another.

"Lia," Mother sighed tiredly. Beneath her anger, Lia felt a jab of guilt at contributing to her mother's weariness. "Why are you so angry with your father?"

"Because he is a liar!" she hissed, not removing her face from her pillow. She felt her father's rhythm falter at her words.

"I have never lied to you, or any of your siblings," Father insisted.

She sat up, twisting to glare at him and feeling her eyes itch from the tears in them. "Yes you did!" she exclaimed. "I heard the argument between you and Mother a few moons before the king came to Sunspear. You lied to us, the whole _realm_, about what happened to Aunt Elia! You said that she was a good woman, that Rhaegar kidnapped her, but I heard you admit to Mother that she ran away! And I heard you arguing about what happened to Aunt Lyanna and her children! I know what they did to her and her babes, and to Aunt Barbrey, Melara and Uncle Benjen! It was awful, and even though you are the king's best friend you have done nothing to gain justice for it!"

Her parents had both paled, Mother looked stricken and Father looked as if he had just been slapped. Lia continued to rant, feeling as if she were a fountain that had been blocked and was now overflowing. It felt good to at last get everything off of her chest. Freeing.

"And the king wanted to display their bodies!" she exclaimed. "_Display_ them! And you always said that he was a good person, an honourable one, but that's a lie! _You're_ a liar! I hate you! I hate you! I wish you had died during the war, that way I would not have been born and have to live with the shame of being your child!"

Father physically recoiled at that, and Mother's expression went from shocked to stern. Lia felt a tendril of guilt unfurl within her chest, but not enough to take back her words. She lifted her chin defiantly, tears still stinging her eyes.

"That is enough, Aliandra," Mother said stonily, jaw locked. She turned to Father. "My love," she murmured, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "Allow me to deal with this."

He hesitated, but eventually nodded, seeming to have aged a dozen years since Lia had had opened her mouth. He rose from the bed, looking pained. Lia crossed her arms over her chest and looked away, refusing to meet his gaze, though she felt it fixed on her.

"I love you dearly, Lia," he said softly. "Even if you loathe me, I always will. I-I am deeply sorry that you overheard that argument."

"I am not," she responded coldly. "I'd rather know the truth, not the lie you told to make yourself look better."

He flinched at that, and left without another word.

Mother sighed, and stood. "Come over to your vanity, Lia," she ordered. "Your hair is tangled. We need to braid it before you go to bed."

Quietly, feeling guilty at the fatigue in her mother's eyes, Lia obeyed. They were silent for a while, her mother gently running the brush through her curls and undoing the knots, careful not to pull Lia's hair and cause her pain.

"What of that argument did you hear?" Mother finally asked.

"I heard you crying, and Father confessing that Aunt Elia ran away with Rhaegar, and him chiding you very harshly, ordering you not to speak against the king or his sister again," Lia muttered.

"I see," Mother replied. "So you did not hear me call your father's sister a homewrecking whore, or his oldest and dearest friend a child butcher?"

"No," Lia admitted, slightly shocked. "But it was not as if you were not speaking the truth."

"Oh, I agree," Mother assured her, placing down the brush and beginning to pull Lia's hair into a braid for sleeping. "But whatever my opinions of the pair, your father loves them. My opinion of them is based on the pain they caused me, whilst your father's opinion of them is based on their childhood. He loves them, and to think badly of the ones we love is something very painful for us all." She sighed, tying off the braid and having them move so that they sat facing one another on the window seat, wrapping Lia in a loose embrace.

"My darling, your father is a good man," she murmured. "He has always been very good to me, even before we cared for one another."

"He made you cry!" Lia protested stubbornly.

Mother gave a brief smile. "And I have slapped him and spoken very cruelly to him on several occasions," she responded. "But as a women, I am entitled to weep when my heart aches, whilst a man is shamed if he does so. Do not think I am not just as capable of hurting your father with my words as he can to me."

She reached out and stroked Lia's cheek softly. "Sweetling, you cannot go a lifetime with somebody without hurting them at some point," she informed her gently. "Human beings have tempers, we are prideful beings. Your father and I argue on occasion, that is simply a part of a marriage. The only way to avoid arguing with somebody entirely is if you never spend any time with them at all. I dearly hope you have a marriage like mine, where your husband respects you and treats you as an equal, instead of one where he only pays attention to you if he wants an heir. You have argued with your siblings many times, have made them cry before and vice versa. That does not mean you do not love them and they you, does it?"

Reluctantly, Lia shook her head, understanding her mother's point even if she didn't like it. "But why lie about Elia?" she pressed. "Father has always said that lying is wrong, but he did then."

Mother sighed again. "As I said, my love, your father loved, and still does love, Elia dearly. To me, she is the woman who ran off with my goodbrother whilst my sister was not yet recovered from childbirth. To him, she was his only sister whom he treasured dearly. When the Rebellion began, he genuinely believed that she had been abducted. He did not know Rhaegar well enough to understand that he would never do such a thing. By the time that he learned the truth, she was dead and if he were to say anything, all it would do was besmirch her memory, something that is very painful to a person who has lost a loved one. He chose to allow her to remain pristine, instead of muddying it for what he considered to be no reason."

"The Sack-" Lia began to say, but Mother had a counter prepared for this as well.

"Your father had absolutely nothing to do with the events of the Sack," she declared firmly. "He arrived several hours after the Lannisters. In fact, Oberyn was the sole person to object to what happened, and push for the Lannisters to be punished. The Us-_King_, however, refused to listen. The man is lost in his own regrets and wine." Disdain flickered through her eyes.

"You said that you wished you had never been forced to marry him," Lia remarked softly, looking at her hands. "That you'd never have done it if your family's lives weren't on the line."

Mother grimaced. "I did not mean it when I said that," she stated. "Well, I would not have chosen to wed him, I admit that. Not then, anyway. But I do not regret our marriage, I promise. Even casting aside everything else, you and your siblings are everything to me, and if the only thing I am known for in the history books is being your mother, I can know that I lived a good life."

Lia chewed on her bottom lip. "Do you love Father?" she asked.

"I do," Mother didn't even blink in hesitation. "I confess, my love, it was not an easy thing to do. At first, I deeply resented, perhaps even hated, him. But I began to respect him quite quickly, due to the loving way he interacted with your elder sisters, and the effort he put into ruling Dorne. He struggled very much at first, as he had not been trained for it at all. But he put Dorne above his pride, he did his best for the kingdom. And he was very good to me. Our marriage was very tense at the start, I do not deny that. We had trouble, we argued a great deal. But many men would have beaten their wives bloody at the least when they acted as I did in our early years. Your father was always good to me. He never forced me, he only raised a hand to me once, when he was deep in his cups and only after I spoke negatively of Elia. He was horrified when he realized what he had done, and it took a long time for me to assure him that I had forgiven him for it. By the time of your birth, I loved him.

If your father has a flaw, my love, it is that he is a human, and thus is not infallible. He makes mistakes, as the both of us do. That does not make him a bad person."

"I thought he was perfect," Lia confessed, looking at her hands again. "The best man there is. And now I know that he is not, and I am angry with him for it."

Mother stroked her hair. "It is a hard lesson to learn, my sweet," she sighed. "But one that everyone must at some point. Parents are imperfect, and equally as capable of making mistakes as any other. That doesn't mean they aren't good people. That your father is as flawed as everyone else is certainly does not mean that he would not burn the world to the ground to protect you and your siblings. Half the reason that I fell in love with him is due to the love he bears all of you."

Lia nodded slowly. "I will apologize," she said softly. "I just-"

"It's alright, my love," Mother interrupted gently with a soft smile. "I understand, and your father will also. Just remember, my darling: when the cold winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. You are a summer child, my love, as are your siblings. But Winter is Coming, and our family must be united in order to survive it."


	16. Howland I

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**In response to the reviews about Aegon's deal: yeah, he really fucked up there, but, as I said to one reviewer, who says anybody is gonna find out? Besides, as you will see in this chapter, Aegon is not so foolish as that deal makes it seem. He's also not as honourable as canon!Jon.**

**Read, enjoy, and review!**

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Howland I**

_**Volantene Mansion: 21**__**st**__** May, 298 AC**_

Howland Reed, Lord-in-Exile of Greywater Watch and both personal Greenseer and Master of Whispers to His Grace King Aegon, Sixth of His Name, King of the Rhoynar, the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Defender of the Faith and Protector of the Realm, was deeply disturbed as he listened to the king's admission as to what he had offered Volantis in exchange for their support in the Targaryens' campaign against the Usurper and the lions who pulled his strings.

The treaty had been finalized at last, the last draft written up and signed by the Triarchy and King that very morning. Despite requests, the young king had stayed mum up until the council session before at last revealing to them the details of the agreement between the Triarchy and he himself. Howland desperately wished that the lad had spoken up earlier. They could have dissuaded him. Almost everything was acceptable, if not fantastic. Almost everything, save for that single, vital and tiny detail.

"Your Grace," Howland spoke up, seeing the uneasy looks exchanged by his fellow advisors. "May I speak freely?"

The young king, who was so very like his late mother in colouring but was otherwise very much a Targaryen if you looked past the grey eyes (tinted purple) and dark hair, nodded and waved him on.

"Of course, Lord Reed," King Aegon granted permission. "You are my most trusted councillors, all of you, and I greatly value and treasure your advice."

"Your Grace," Reed exhaled heavily. "You have grown up in the Free Cities, particularly here in Volantis, where slavery is rampant and considered to be the norm, the natural way of life even. As such, Your Grace, you cannot quite comprehend just how scorned and reviled slavery is in the Seven Kingdoms. It is one of the few things that both the Faith of the Seven and the Old Gods are in agreement in regards to, and in the Winterlands it is particularly hated. You could lose a great amount of support, should knowledge of your decision in regards to the Lannisters be discovered. The Winterlands are loyal to your maternal House, yes. But we are loyal to the Gods first, and I cannot foresee any of my old packmates considering such a blatant move against Their wills as acceptable. You could find yourself being turned against even by them, my king."

"Lord Reed speaks truly, Your Grace," Ser Willem stated, grimacing and dusting off his whitecloak uncomfortably.

Aegon briefly looked down, drumming his fingers on his armrest. "I do not wish for this knowledge to go out of this room," he instructed them. "Not even to my lady wife, the queen. Is that understood, councillors?" He waited for their promises of silence before continuing. "I have no intention of holding to that part of the bargain," he confessed, earning several raised eyebrows.

"I was very careful when phrasing the deal. I deliberately ensured that the document _only_ agreed to give the surviving Lannister adult males of the main line to Volantis as slaves, nobody else. I had the treaty specifically say that nobody else would be allowed to be taken as slaves, or it would be an act of war against Westeros.

That means that, due to the wording, Tywin, Jaime and Tyrion Lannister are the only ones. I will be issuing secret orders to ensure that, by the end of the war, the three of them are all either dead, or too badly injured to be worth it for Volantis."

"Some might consider it dishonourable, Your Grace," Dowager Queen Rhaella, the Hand of the King and the first woman to hold the title, stated. "Should the fact that you deliberately negotiated a deal to ensure that you would not have to keep your side of the bargain, it may cast doubts on your character and honour."

Many of the (Crownlander or sellsword, the Winterlands knew better than to judge a person by what was or was not between their legs) men had muttered when Aegon declared that his grandmother would be his Hand.

But Howland had approved of the idea from the start. Although she had put up a façade of being a weak, broken woman whilst she was still the reigning Queen Consort for her husband, that was exactly what it was: a façade. Queen Rhaella had been at the centre of the court of three (very) different kings, and had learned to rule alongside her brother-husband, at their late grandfather, Aegon V's knee. And in spite of his foolishness at the end of his life, Aegon V had been an excellent king, who cared for _all _his people, not just the ones who gave him power.

Unlike her parents and brother, the queen had absorbed his care for the smallfolk. She was politically shrewd and caring, an excellent advisor for her grandson. And it was not as if she had to do more than advise him. Unlike many kings, Aegon was determined to rule himself, not simply follow in the footsteps of the Usurper by having his Hand rule in his name as he lost himself in his leisure activities.

King Aegon had most definitely inherited the dutiful natures of both the Prince Rhaegar and the Magnara-Princess Lyanna.

"I am aware, my lady grandmother," the king replied. "Which is why I wish for this to be kept secret. Just as secret as the knowledge of the details of the agreement. The Triarchy also agreed to keep mum on the matter, swearing by the gods they follow. Nobody will ever learn of this, I trust."

"Not from any of us, my king," Princess Daenerys, the Mistress of Laws, vowed. Though Howland could tell from her tight expression that she was less than pleased with her brother's admission of his deal. The young princess had a strict moral code, the reason she had been appointed to her position, and he knew that none of this would sit well with her.

"Good," the king nodded briskly. He looked around. "Very well, are there any other issues to discuss now that we have dealt with the matter of the agreement with Volantis and the other issues that we have spoken of today?"

"Your Grace, I have news from King's Landing," Howland piped up. The king waved him on.

"It appears that your lady aunt is aiding her husband in discovering the truth of Lord Arryn's death," Howland informed his sovereign.

Of course, Howland had long since discovered the truth of the heritage of the three children of the so-called Queen Cersei. They planned to use it to prove that Aegon had more right to the Iron Throne than any other. The Usurper had no trueborn issue. He did, however, have two brothers and several nieces and nephews. Of course, none of them could be harmed, that would be immoral. But they _would_ have to be dealt with somehow. The boys taken as hostages by loyal lords and the girls wed to trusted men or sent to become septas.

Howland had also realized that the Lannisters had likely killed the Hand once he became suspicious. He was concerned now, that the lions might kill Lord Martell and Magnara Aly. Howland was less concerned about Oberyn Martell (though he had seen enough of the man in his greendreams to decide that he was a good enough man). But Howland _was_ quite worried about Magnara Aly. She would be a target as well.

"Aunt Aly is helping the Snake find out the truth of the Falcon Hand's death?" Aegon blinked in surprise, then wrinkled his expression. "Why would she-?"

"That is what draws my curiosity, my king," Howland informed him.

In truth, Howland had been curious about Aly's marriage since news had arrived of her second child's birth. He had known the Starks of his generation well, had, like all Winterlander children of the nobility, been sent to foster at Winterfell alongside the five of them. He knew that she would never consent to submit meekly to an abusive husband. Rather, she would scratch his eyes out for the audacity of it. But, guilty as he felt at what seemed a bit like abandoning his dear friend, Aly had not been a priority. His checks had assured him that she was not being harmed, and she was a fierce lady, able to care for herself. His focus had been on ensuring the safety of his King and Princess, the children that Princess Lyanna had entrusted him with when she swapped out the babes after learning of the death of her husband.

But knowing Aly, Howland would not be surprised if she managed to turn her husband from an enemy into an ally. His suspicions that the ruler of Dorne might not be so bad as the (justifiably) furious Targaryens believed had been increased by his visions. A man did not look at a woman he did not care for the way Oberyn Martell looked at his wife in Howland's dreams.

"In addition, my greendreams have frequently shown me glimpses of Oberyn Martell recently, along with another Dornish girl, though I know not whom she is," Howland continued. "I believe that they both have significance in the war that is to come."

The others exchanged heavy glances with one another. After so many years, even the staunchest follower of the Seven knew better than to question the word of the greenseer.

"With your permission, Your Grace," Howland went on. "I will investigate more into the matter of the Martells. If there is a possibility that we could turn the Dornish from another opponent to allies, it could only benefit us and our cause."

The young man hesitated, glancing briefly at both his grandmother and sister before responding. "You have permission, Lord Reed," he stated. "I will not pretend that I enjoy the thought of working with the Usurper's Snake, but I do not wish to be a cruel king who is remembered in the history books for refusing to let go of old grudges. If the Snake would agree to acknowledge me as the true King of Westeros, than I would rather have them become my friends then fight against them if such can occur."

"Thank you, my king," Howland bowed his head. Aegon nodded and stood, prompting all of them to rise with him.

"This session of the small council is now dismissed," he announced, allowing them all to disperse. Howland expected that the young ruler himself was eager to return to the company of his lovely young bride. There had been no confirmations yet, but given the amount of time the young couple was spending with one another, the Master of Whispers was expecting them to announce the impending arrival of the next heir to the Iron Throne soon enough.

Howland made his way straight to the godswood they had planted after settling in Volantis, kneeling before the weirwood tree and bowing his head. As he knelt, he used a knife, carved with carefully selected Old Tongue runes, to slice open his palm, re-opening a half-healed scar. Solemnly, he placed his bleeding hand against the bark and began to pray.

"_Oh, Gods of the Forest, Rivers and Stone,"_he spoke in the Old Tongue, the language of the Old Gods and the Children of the Forest. _"I beg You to show me the truth of Oberyn Martell. What is his role in what is to come? Please, reveal to me the truth of the girl You keep showing me. I beseech You, show me what I need to know in order to properly fulfil Your will."_

He looked up, into the carved, stern eyes of the heart tree. He knew that the Seven worshippers all still stubbornly believed one of the Winterlanders must have carved the face, but they were wrong. He did not know if the Children had done it, but it had been no mortal who formed the frowning features of the face.

The eyes seemed to glow red, and suddenly Howland was tumbling down a whirlwind tunnel of memories, the flashes passing by too quickly for him to comprehend.

He landed in the Neck. He knew it was the Neck, in spite of it being two decades since he had gone south as the then-Magnara Lyanna's personal greenseer. The place was as familiar as his left hand, even after all of this time. He stood outside the abandoned 'Tower of Joy', which had once been the keep of the treacherous House Towers, who had risen up against King Jorah Stark and been eradicated for their treason. Most of the keep had crumbled away, leaving only a single wing left.

Three men in whitecloaks were outside, one of them glancing up towards the top of the tower with a deep frown. Howland assumed he was worried about the screaming woman within. He recognized the men as Arthur Dayne, the Sword of Morning, Gerold "The White Bull" Hightower, the Lord Commander of Aerys' Kingsguard, and Ser Oswell Whent.

"I would send a Kingsguard with you," Princess Lyanna had said bitterly when she'd given him her children to take them to safety. "But my brother and Ser Jonothor are dead, Ser Barristan has bent the knee to the Usurper and the king will not allow Ser Jaime to leave his side. As for the rest, my husband apparently considered it more important to have the royal family's personal guard protecting his _concubine_ than his wife and children."

Howland felt a spark of fury towards the late Prince. How dare he hide his pregnant whore, the tramp that he had betrayed Princess Lyanna with, in the magnara's own kingdom? It was an insult on top of an already-great injury.

The sight of a group galloping up to the tower, however, distracted him, and he focused on the scene, knowing that the Gods had shown it to him for a reason.

He was unsurprised when Lord Oberyn Martell was revealed to be the lead rider as he dismounted from his horse even before the animal had fully stopped moving. With him had come six others, who were quick to join him. Howland knew them not, though he recognized the symbols on their tunics. The lot of them were clearly prepared for a fight, though they were equally obviously unaccustomed to the climate of the Neck.

Howland watched quietly, clasping his hands behind his back as anticipation twisted in his stomach. The answers he sought were about to be revealed, though his mind was already beginning to put the pieces together. The vision would tell him whether or not he was right, however.

Ser Arthur Dayne wore a pained expression as he looked at his countrymen. The hilt of the legendary greatsword Dawn poked up over his right shoulder. Ser Oswell Whent was on one knee, sharpening his blade with a whetstone. Across his white-enamelled helm, the black bat of his House spread its wings. Between them stood the fierce old Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

"So this is where the remainder of Aerys' Kingsguard have been hiding," the young Lord of Dorne remarked coldly.

"We were not hiding," Ser Oswell denied, putting aside the whetstone and rising. His eyes flashed angrily at the slight, though he kept his composure, too experienced to be set off-guard by such a trick.

"Really?" the Viper scoffed. "Because I looked for you on the Trident where Robert and I killed your prince," Martell stated coolly, as he readied his spear. "The Wild Wolf and Darry both died there, and Selmy swore his sword to Robert after being wounded. But there was no sign of any of you."

"We were not there," Ser Gerold answered. "Had we been there, things would have turned out very different for both sides."

"The Usurper would be dead and buried if we were there," added Ser Oswell. "As would you! And our traitor brother would rot for his betrayal of his vows."

The Red Viper smiled sharply, all fang and venom like the snake that was his namesake. "When King's Landing fell, Aerys impaled himself on his own throne, Princess Lyanna and her children were killed, and I wondered where you were. Why were the _Kings_guard not guarding their king?"

"Far away," Ser Gerold replied to his words, expression cold and stony. "Or Aerys would yet sit on the Iron Throne, and his gooddaughter and grandchildren would be alive, their killers burning in the seven hells."

"Ser Willem Darry is fled to Dragonstone, with your queen and with the young Prince Viserys," Martell commented. "I thought that you might have sailed with him."

"Ser Willem is a good man and true," Dayne acknowledged.

"But not of the Kingsguard," Hightower pointed out. "The Kingsguard does not flee."

"Then or now," agreed Ser Arthur. He donned his helm.

"We swore a vow," explained old Ser Gerold.

"You also swore vows as knights to protect women and children," Martell snarled. "Yet you hold my sister, an innocent lady, captive on the orders of a rapist!"

"We hold no one captive," the Sword of Morning responded. "Rhaegar was no rapist. And you are one to talk of knightly vows, after what happened to Princess Lyanna and her children." He unsheathed Dawn and held it with both hands, the greatsword being as big as Howland himself. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light. A gift from the gods themselves.

The attacking Dornishmen readied themselves. One of the men, who was wearing a navy tunic bearing the black falling star of the Daynes of High Hermitage, glowered at Ser Arthur, who met his gaze evenly.

"And now it begins," the Sword of the Morning declared.

"No," the Viper corrected him coldly. "Now it ends."

The fight was short and vicious, and by the end only Martell still stood. Hightower had fallen to the men wearing the symbols of Houses Dayne and Dalt, taking the pair with him. Whent had died at the hands of the two Wells men after he slayed the man in Blackmont colours. Finally, Martell, the Wells knights (both injured from their fight against Whent) and the Qorgyle man had all stood and fought against Dayne.

To the Kingsguard's credit, he had held up well against his four countrymen, quickly defeating the injured brothers and badly wounding Qorgyle enough to take him out of the fight so that only Martell remained to stand against him.

Howland had known that Martell would survive and Ser Arthur would not, but he was puzzled as to how the Snake would win the fight, for he was far out-classed by the other man. But then it turned out that Qorgyle was not as defeated as they had all believed. With the last remnants of his strength, the wounded man had thrown his knife at the Sword of Morning. It had not been a fatal hit, but it was good enough that the man stumbled at the blade slicing into his leg, allowing Martell to step forward and shove his spear right through the man's neck.

Howland gave the Snake credit for dashing right to Qorgyle to try and aid him. But by the time the Lord of Sunspear fell to his knees beside his bannerman, the man was gurgling out his last breaths, and Martell was helpless to aid him in any way.

He swore violently as Qorgyle's eyes glazed over into the stare of death, and then hit the ground with his fist, cursing again.

Then a woman screamed again. Howland had heard her cries earlier, but he had been too distracted by the battle to really notice it.

"Elia!" Martell cried, head snapping back to look up at the tower. He scrambled onto his feet and raced into the keep, taking the steps two at a time, following his sister's screams. Howland followed as quickly as he could.

Martell flung himself into the room, spear still in hand, and then froze in shock at the sight that met his eyes. Howland too was shocked, despite having already realized what had happened when he heard Lady Elia's cries at the beginning of the vision. He had known, but it was one thing to know in one's mind, and another thing entirely to see it with his own eyes.

He had never once considered the possibility that Elia Martell had been with child until that day, though he, like all of the Dragonstone household, had known of Rhaegar's borderline-obsession with growing the Targaryen line, his fears of his House dying out and his desire to have many children to cancel out that possibility. But Howland still found it hard to believe his eyes. How could Rhaegar have done such a grave insult to his loving and dutiful wife?

Yet it could not be denied: there she was, struggling to support a small bundle that was crying in the unhappy tones of a newborn child. Elia Martell's face was flushed with fever and her breathing so ragged he could detect it even from the doorway. There was a woman, no doubt a maid, trying to help, but it was clear that she was no midwife, and lost as to how to help the lady.

"Elia," Martell croaked. He both looked and sounded devastated, and Howland felt a brief surge of sympathy for the man. She turned her head in his direction weakly, her eyes glassy and her movements weak.

"Oberyn?" she murmured. "Brother? Is that you? Are you here?"

"I am," he confirmed, hurrying to her side and collapsing to his knees beside her. "I am here," he continued, stroking her cheek to comfort her. "I am here to take you home."

"Home," she mumbled. Her eyes filled with tears. "I want to go home." Then she looked stricken, reaching for him weakly. He grasped her hand and held it tightly in one of his own, while the other stroked some hair from her face.

He turned to snap at the maid. "Is there no maester?" he barked. "A midwife?"

The maid shook her head helplessly. "No, milord," she replied despairingly. "The babe came early, we had no time."

Martell growled in angry helplessness, looking back to his sister, who was weakly attempting to regain his attention. She relaxed slightly when he turned back to her. "I am so sorry!" she gasped. "I never meant-neither of us thought all of this would happen. I am so sorry Oberyn. Doran and the others-Mellario and Arianne-"

"It is not your fault," he assured her. "It was Rhaegar's fault, Rhaegar and Aerys. But they paid for it, Sister. I promise you, our brother and his family are avenged."

Fear crossed her face then, much to her brother's clear dismay. It was obvious that he had sought to soothe her, yet instead he had distressed her more.

"So is it true?" she gasped. "Did Robert really have Rhaegar's children killed?"

"Tywin Lannister ordered the children's deaths," Martell replied, avoiding her gaze. Howland scowled at that. And the Usurper had spat on the bodies, he added bitterly.

Oh, they had not been the real royal children. The girl had been the daughter of a Celtigar couple, several generations removed from the male line, whilst the boy had been the son of a Greystark guard and his Karstark wife. Neither child had been expected to live out their infancy due to both having illnesses. But they had been innocent babes all the same, and no matter their identities, it had been pure cruelty and spite what the Usurper and the lions had done.

Lady Elia still looked frightened. Her strength rejuvenated somewhat by her fear for her daughter, she clutched the squalling babe closer to her breast with one arm, her other hand reaching out to grab her brother's tunic.

"Oberyn, you must promise me you'll protect her!" she gasped out, voice desperate and eyes wild. "Promise me that you will protect Rhaenys, that you will keep her safe from him for me! Do not Robert or the Lannisters kill her, as they killed her siblings! Promise me! Promise me Brother!"

"Nobody will ever harm a hair on her head," he vowed, not hesitating for even a second. Lady Elia smiled in relief at that. She lost her grip on his tunic, as her chest ceased to move and her hold on the infant Rhaenys slackened.

The maid lunged, grabbing the child before she could fall, whilst Martell stared at his sister, apparently trying to comprehend her death. Howland felt another surge of pity for the young man. He had fought a war to try and save his sister and avenge their brother, yet he had arrived only moments before her death.

Fury and grief took over the man then, and he spent the next moments destroying furniture and shaking her body, as if he could somehow force her spirit back into her body.

It appeared that it was Rhaenys' wails that brought him back to himself. He turned towards the sound, finding the maid cowering in the corner with his niece held tightly to her chest, staring fearfully at him as if she thought he might lunge at her and the child next.

He held out his hands, his jaw tight. "Give me my niece," he barked. She was clearly reluctant to hand over the child, but she hesitantly placed the babe into his arms, hovering near as if she thought to rip the babe away from him if he appeared about to harm the babe.

Howland watched as the Snake studied the child he held for several moments before looking at the maid.

"Who are you?" he demanded, eyeing the nurse tensely.

She swallowed and answered. "Wylla, milord," she muttered nervously. "I serve House Dayne. They employed me to tend Princess Elia, when it became obvious that, that a wetnurse would be needed. My boy was gone by then, but I still have my milk."

"Princess Elia?" he repeated, looking confused. "She was a lady, not a princess."

Wylla shook her head. "No, my lord," she corrected him anxiously, smoothing out her bloody apron. "She and Prince Rhaegar wed. They had a dispensation from the High Septon, granting the Prince leave to take a second wife."

Howland clenched his hands into fists at that, indignant at the insult to Princess Lyanna.

"My lord," Wylla spoke hesitantly. "What will you do with Princess Rhaenys?"

Martell looked down at the babe again. She had stopped crying, and had fallen asleep. "There is no Princess Rhaenys," he declared after a second, looking back at her with a steely expression. "There has been none since the Queen Who Never Was. Nor was my sister married to anybody. She was kidnapped and died of a fever. This is my bastard daughter, Nymeria Sand, born to a Riverlands woman. I suggest you send a letter to your masters, because you will be joining my household now."

Of course, nobody with a lick of sense would let the only other person who knew they were committing treason out of their sight. It was logical that Martell had decided to bring the woman with him, and that he claimed the child was born in the Riverlands. He would have been there at the right time for her conception, after all, and he already had two bastard daughters from two women by then. His lie was a delicate one, but not one that most people would care to look into.

Howland hissed in surprise as his vision suddenly zeroed in on the face of the child, and he watched as she grew, first into a toddler, then a child, and then at last into the young lady he had been seeing alongside Lord Oberyn in his recent dreams.

Her eyes, which he had originally thought to be a dark brown, were tinted with a hint of purple.

His eyes snapped open and he gasped, his mind suddenly returned to his body in the Volantene godswood again.

Thought were running wildly through his mind. The Usurper's Snake, whom they had believed to be one of his most loyal supporters, was not only wed to Princess Lyanna's twin sister, but had willing been committing treason for the past fifteen, almost sixteen, years.

It was obvious that, in a choice between his friend and his blood, Martell would choose his blood. Could they use his niece/adopted daughter to bring Dorne to their side? After all, Aegon would (after some brooding over the insult to his mother) embrace his younger half-sister (though Howland doubted she would be acknowledged as a princess. That would be asking too much, when all they had in regards to the supposed dispensation and marriage was the word of a maid). The Baratheons and Lannisters, however, had proved exactly what they would do to anyone who threatened their grasp on the Iron Throne.

He rose to his feet and began to give a rushed thanks to the Old Gods for their help. He needed to find Queen Rhaella immediately. She, more than anybody, would know what to do about this revelation, how to use it.


	17. Oberyn IV

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**Thanks to everyone enjoying this. I hope it keeps living up to expectations!**

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Oberyn IV**

_**King's Landing: June 3**__**rd**__**, 298 AC**_

"Janos Slynt, I, Lord Oberyn of House Nymeros Martell, Hand of the King to His Grace King Robert, First of His Name, Head of House Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Defender of the Faith and the Lord Protector of the Realm, hereby find you guilty of multiple counts of rape, accepting bribes, coercion, theft, and various other crimes against the King's Peace. You are hereby sentenced to die. The sentence will be carried out at sunset on the morrow."

Whispers flooded the court. Slynt looked enraged, but as he had been gagged earlier due to his continuous interruptions during the proceedings, he was unable to protest the sentence. Not that it would do any good to argue, as the evidence gathered, both in the form of documents and witnesses both high and lowborn, were irrefutable.

"Ser Jacelyn Bywater, step forward!" Oberyn went on. The Captain of the Mud Guard, who had been a key part of unrooting the proof of Slynt's crimes, came forward from his place in the audience and went down on one knee. "Many of those I have spoken to have spoken of your honour, dedication to your duty and incorruptibility," Oberyn stated. "And I have seen confirmation of that during the course of this investigation. As such, I would name you as the new Captain of the City Watch. Do you accept?"

"I do, milord," Ironhand agreed immediately. "You honour me with your trust. I give you my sincerest thanks for it."

"See to it that I am proven right," Oberyn instructed him. "Your first task is to find and root out all of those who have been breaking the King's Peace and misusing their office. Arrest them and replace them. Extra funds will be given to you to fulfil this duty."

He noticed Littlefinger twitch at that, but ignored it. Littlefinger would not be a problem soon enough. Soon he'd have enough proof to confirm that the man was embezzling from the Treasury, and he would lose his irritatingly smug head when Oberyn had it cut off. Oberyn could not deny that he looked forward to no longer having to put up with the man's constant commentary. It would hopefully lessen his headaches. Oberyn pitied Jon greatly, to have had to deal with the man for nine years.

"Milord, I must warn you that the Watch is already struggling to cope with the amount of problems brought to us due to the tourney," Ser Jacelyn said bluntly. "I will not have enough men to police the city if I arrest any of the other guards."

Oberyn nodded in understanding. "I will have forty of my men join the watch temporarily," he told the guardsman. "They will aid you until such time as the tourney is over and done with, and the Watch's numbers increased."

It would cut down his personal guard by half, but given the fact that his goodbrother had sent a hundred Northrons south to protect Aly and the children whilst they were in the capital, Oberyn was unconcerned.

He was thankful to Magnar Stark for it. They would never be on good terms, but Oberyn deeply appreciated that the man did not allow his (probably justified) anger towards Oberyn to affect his care for his nieces and nephews.

"Thank you, my Lord Hand," Ser Jacelyn bowed his head before rising and leaving quickly.

Oberyn rose from the Iron Throne, hiding a grimace. Sitting on it was complete torture. Oberyn had literal bruises from it. That was one thing he understood about Robert's aversion to holding court, even if he wished that the king would spend his time doing something useful instead of drinking himself to death with various whores on his lap.

"Court is now dismissed," Oberyn announced, heading for the door as the courtiers began to disperse, still whispering amongst one another. He saw Ser Loras Tyrell glaring resentfully at him, but ignored the young Knight of Flowers completely.

Ser Loras was clearly upset over his lover being dismissed from the Small Council, but Oberyn had had no other acceptable choice. If Renly thought lying with the younger Reachman was more important than doing his duty as Master of Laws, then he could use his new free time to do so. Oberyn had given the young Lord of Dragonstone a full moon to do something about the corruption in the City Watch, yet he had done absolutely nothing, not even reprimanded Slynt. As such, Oberyn had dismissed him with Robert's agreement (well, Robert had simply grunted and told him to do what he liked, so long as Robert was not bothered by it). Oberyn had, after some thought and discussion with Aly, written to Ser Brynden Tully requesting the man take up the newly-opened position, and the man had agreed. The Blackfish would arrive within the moon.

Oberyn had also sent a final letter to Stannis, warning him that he was to send a reply with a return date within the fortnight or else he would forfeit his position as Master of Ships. Given everything, Oberyn expected him not to respond. As such, he and Aly had discussed whom would take up the position. Oberyn had seriously considered asking for one of the Skystarks, Seastarks or Starstarks, or even a Manderly, to take up with the position, hoping it might placate his wife's homeland a bit. Aly had persuaded him not to, warning that her people would more likely be indignant than honoured. Only the heads of her kin's murderers would satisfy them, and that was the one area that Robert refused to allow Oberyn free rein.

Instead, Oberyn intended to ask Lord Monford Velaryon to take up the position. The Velaryons had long served in that position, and he hoped that it might soothe the loyalists' anger over their continued ostracization in Robert's court. Oberyn had had no idea how bad the divide was until he had come north to the capital. Not a single loyalist held a position in the Red Keep, only a few could be found about the place, mostly Reachmen (even the Crownlanders avoided Robert's court), and comments degrading the loyalist families were often and freely spoken.

Oberyn failed to understand why Jon had allowed such to occur, but he knew it needed to be dealt with, especially because, in spite of what he had said to Robert on the way to King's Landing, he was concerned that Viserys Targaryen might be attempting to regain the Iron Throne. Maybe if he could ease the continuing tension between the two sides, it would discourage the former loyalists from aiding the Dragon-in-Exile.

He rubbed at his temples as he walked, thoughts of the loyalists reminding of the discrepancies he and Aly had found in the Crown's accounts. Not only were they certain that Baelish was taking money from the Treasury to fill his own coffers, though they did not yet have enough proof to arrest him for it, but it appeared that loyalist Houses were being made to pay higher taxes than rebel ones. It was unacceptable, but Oberyn was yet to decide how to deal with it. The situation was so delicate, he worried that it would be set alight if he so much as prodded at it with a finger.

Thank the Gods for his wife. He'd never have managed any of this without her to lean on.

Ser Garris Sand had the door when Oberyn returned to the Tower of the Hand. "Summon Daemon to my chambers and have my horse saddled," Oberyn ordered him, probably a bit too brusquely.

He wanted to have Aly summoned as well, to see her and feel the comfort of her embrace, but he knew that she was busy visiting some more of her old contacts in the city. He had forbidden the children from leaving the castle grounds due to the recent rise in crime from the people traipsing to the city for the tourney. But though he refused to allow his children to leave the relative safety of the keep, he had reluctantly agreed to allow Aly to continue going out, so long as she brought a minimum of four guards as protection, took a carriage and was back before dark. He would have preferred to confine her to the safety of the keep also, especially given the babe growing within her, but she had successfully argued that her contacts were giving them great aid in their investigation. They couldn't afford to lose those sources, and the people were too wary to agree to speak to anybody save Aly. From the stories she had told them of their sufferings at the hands of the corrupt highborn, even though she refused to go into too many details for their sakes, Oberyn could understand their wariness, though it frustrated him greatly.

"As you say, my lord."

The stress of running the realm, trying to manage Robert ("trying to" being the key part of that) and the "Hand's Tourney" were driving him mad, Oberyn reflected as he climbed. He yearned for the comfort of Aly's arms in their bed at home, for the sounds of his children and wards running about the palace, for the scorching hot days and the freezing cold nights of Dorne.

He was so busy working, he barely got to see his family, let alone spend time with them, though at least his relationship with Lia had been somewhat mended since she'd admitted to overhearing his and Aly's argument on the anniversary of the Sack and Aly had soothed her. Lia was still distant, but it had improved. She was acknowledging his existence, at any rate.

Aly was worn out from her pregnancy and her own efforts, so she was usually already fast asleep when he returned to their bedchamber at night. When she was awake and they were alone, they discussed their work, which left neither of them in the mood to lie with one another.

He hadn't gone so long without bedding her since her difficult birth with the twins had made Caleotte and Tallhart ban them from lying with one another for six moons, back in 288.

In his chambers he stripped off his fancy court outer-robe down to a simple white lace-up shirt and a pair of breeches and then sat for a moment with the book while he waited for Daemon to arrive.

_The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children, by Grand Maester Malleon_. Pycelle had been right and truthful about the book at least; it was very tedious reading. Aly had even started using it to make Arron fall asleep without fussing so much.

Yet Jon had asked for it, and Oberyn felt certain that he'd had his reasons for it. There was something here, some truth buried in these brittle yellow pages, if only he could see it. But what truth was it that he needed to find? The tome was several decades old. Malleon had written it at the beginning of King Maekar's reign. Scarcely a man now alive had yet been born when Malleon had compiled his dusty lists of weddings, births, and deaths.

He and Aly had both gone through it a dozen times between them, yet neither of them could figure out what Jon had been searching for within its pages.

He opened to the section on House Lannister once more, and turned the pages slowly, hoping that this time something would leap out at him. Nothing did, though he absently noted that the marriage of Robert and Cersei was the third time their Houses had been joined. First had been the marriage of Orys Baratheon's great-granddaughter to the second son of the then-Lord of Casterly Rock, the founder of the Lannisters of Lannisport, whilst the second time had been some seventy years before, when Gowen Baratheon had wed Tya Lannister. Gowen and Tya's marriage had produced a single son who died in infancy, whilst Ellyn Baratheon and Jason Lannister had had three sons and two daughters who lived to adult, all dark-haired and blue eyed.

But that was all, and nothing about it seemed to leap out at Oberyn. He scowled in frustration, rubbing his temples again to ease the throbbing in them.

A sharp rap on the door heralded the arrival of Daemon Sand. He had once been Oberyn's squire, his first one in fact, and was one of the people he trusted most in the world. Oberyn closed Malleon's tome and bid him enter.

"I've promised the City Watch forty of my guard until the tourney is done," he informed him. "I rely on you to make the choice. Give Gerold the command, and make certain that the men understand that they are needed to _stop_ fights, not start them. Tell them to help Ser Jacelyn find evidence of any corruption in the goldcloaks as well."

"Yes, my lord," Daemon agreed with a bow as Oberyn rose, opened a cedar chest and removed a light linen undertunic. "Did you find the stableboy?"

Through Aly's contacts, they had discovered that Lysa Arryn had ordered the majority of Jon's household back to the Vale with Elbert's consent, but four of them had remained behind for various reasons. Oberyn had sent Daemon to speak to all of them, and the stableboy was the last of the foursome. He had also written to Elbert, requesting his friend interrogate Jon's former servants and guards, but had yet to receive any reply.

It was very irritating, the way nearly everyone suddenly seemed to be ignoring his letters. It was as if becoming Hand of the King had driven respect for him _down_, not up. Well, given everything, he was not sure that he'd blame people for it if that were true. He felt even more like a failure than in his first few moons as ruler of Dorne, when he'd needed to ask Aly for help for everything, down to figuring out the correct and best way to calculate the taxes.

"The watchman, my lord," Daemon corrected him. "He vows that he will never touch another horse again."

"Good for him," Oberyn stated dryly, a part of him wondering what had caused the boy to make such a decision. It did not seem particularly important, however, so Oberyn pushed thoughts of it away. "What did he have to say?"

"He claims that he knew Lord Arryn well. Fast friends, they were." Daemon snorted. "According to him, the Hand always gave the lads a copper on their name days. The lord had a way with horses. Never rode his mounts too hard, and always brought them carrots and apples, so they were always happy to see him."

"Carrots and apples," Oberyn repeated flatly. "How good of him."

It sounded as if this boy would be even less use than the others. And he was the last of the four remaining members of Jon's household that Aly's contacts had turned up.

Daemon had spoken to each of them in turn. Ser Hugh, Jon's former squire who Robert had knighted after his death had been brusque and uninformative, and arrogant as only a new-made knight can be. If the Hand wished to talk to him, he should be pleased to receive him, but he would not be questioned by a mere captain of guards, especially not a bastard . . . even if said bastard captain was ten years older and a hundred times the swordsman.

The serving girl had at least been pleasant. She had said that Lord Jon had been reading more than was good for him, that he was troubled and melancholy, and unusually gruff with people.

The potboy, now a cordwainer, had never exchanged so much as a word with Lord Jon, but he was full of oddments of kitchen gossip: the lord had been quarrelling with the king, the lord only picked at his food, the lord had taken a great interest in the breeding of hunting hounds, the lord had visited a master armorer to commission a new suit of plate, wrought all in pale silver with a blue jasper falcon and a mother-of-pearl moon on the breast. The king's own brother had gone with him to help choose the design, the potboy had told Daemon. No, not Lord Renly, the other one, Lord Stannis.

"Did the watchman recall anything else of note?"

"The lad swears that the late Lord Jon was as strong as a man half his age. Often went riding with Lord Stannis, he says. His death was a great shock."

"Given he was poisoned, that it hardly a surprise to hear," Oberyn muttered, thinking of Daemon's report. Stannis again. He found the multiple mentions of Lord Stannis very odd. As far as he knew, Jon and Stannis had been cordial, but never friendly. And while Robert had been riding north to Sunspear, Stannis had removed himself and his family to Storm's End, his family's ancestral seat, and was refusing to return, even with the warning that he was about to lose his position on the council. Not to mention that their investigation, as far as Oberyn could figure, had begun when Stannis' youngest child was but a few moons' old.

Oberyn supposed that a great deal of men would not pay so much attention to their newborn daughter, unlike him. He had always found it difficult to pry himself (or Aly) away from his newest child for the best part of the first year after their birth, always worrying over the infant's naturally fragile health. Yet Aly had said that Stannis had been spending an unusually great amount (for him) amount of time with his children before suddenly starting to spend his time with Jon instead.

It was very suspicious behaviour.

"Where did they go on these rides?" Oberyn asked.

"The boy says that they visited a brothel."

"A brothel?" Oberyn repeated incredulously. "_Jon Arryn_, the Lord of the Eyrie and Hand of the King visited a _brothel _with _Stannis Baratheon_?"

He shook his head in disbelief, unable to wrap his mind around the thought. Robert's lusts were the subject of ribald drinking songs throughout the realm, but Stannis was a very different sort of man; a bare year younger than the king, yet utterly unlike him, stern, humourless, unforgiving, grim in his sense of duty. Oberyn could not picture him in a brothel. He had attended the man's wedding to Lady Catelyn, and the man had gone to his marital bed as if he were marching to war.

Nor could he imagine Jon in a whorehouse either. The man had never stepped foot in one even when Robert and Oberyn were lusty young boys. If he had wanted them retrieved, he would send some guards, and he had often lectured the pair of them on the potential consequences of such activities, though they had never listened, even after their bastard daughters were born.

Briefly, Oberyn wondered how little Mya Stone was doing. She had been such a sweet child, with her big blue eyes and dark curls, and Robert had doted on her. Yet he had said nothing of either Mya or his young natural son, Edric Storm, who was being fostered at Dragonstone, since they had reunited. It was another negative change in Robert since the war. He had been a wonderful father to Mya, to the point that Elia had complimented him on it, one of the few good things she had said of him (though Oberyn had failed to notice her lack of enthusiasm about Robert until far, far too late). Yet nowadays he was an indifferent father at best.

Then Oberyn tucked thoughts of Mya away with a mental note to ensure she and Edric were both being properly provided for as befit the natural and acknowledged children of a king and focused on Daemon, who was speaking again.

"The boy insists that 'tis true. The Hand took three guardsmen with him, and the boy says they were joking of it when he took their horses afterward."

"Which brothel?" Oberyn asked.

"The boy did not know. The guards would."

"A pity that Elbert allowed Lady Lysa to pack them all off to the Vale," Oberyn muttered. "The gods are doing their best to make our quest a difficult one, I tell you that Daemon. The guards, Maester Colemon, Lord Stannis . . . everyone who might actually know the truth of what happened to Jon is a thousand leagues away. I have written to Elbert asking for him to question the guards, but he has not sent a reply yet. I may need to send another raven. I want a report on the state of the Vale, anyway. I hope he settled those problems he was having with his lords. The last thing that the Crown needs is a civil war."

"Will you summon Lord Stannis back?"

"I have sent him seven letters already," Oberyn replied with a sigh. "And received no response. I begin to wonder if the birds are even reaching the place. I am wary of drawing attention by ordering his return until I have a better understanding of all of this."

The whole thing nagged at him. Why did Stannis leave? Had he played some part in Jon Arryn's murder? Or was he afraid of something? It disturbed Oberyn to picture what sort of things might frighten Stannis Baratheon, a man who had once held Storm's End for a year, surviving on rats and leather boots whilst the Reach's army feasted outside of his doors. The man was a cold, stoic man, and very dutiful. It was not a pleasant task, contemplating what might have driven him to abandon that duty.

"Bring me my tunic, if you would," he said. "The dark orange, with the gold sunbursts on it. I want this armorer to know who I am. It might make him more forthcoming."

Daemon went to the wardrobe. "Lord Renly is brother to Lord Stannis as well as the king," he pointed out.

"Yet it seems that he was not invited on these rides." Oberyn did not much like Renly, in spite of the man's friendly ways and easy smiles. He bore no grudge towards the man's bedroom habits, Oberyn himself had bedded several men in his own youth, but the man was too frivolous and self-absorbed for Oberyn to like him. He had probably earned the young man's undying enmity anyway, by dismissing him from his position.

Oberyn sighed and shook his head tiredly. "And the other task I set you?" he inquired softly, lowering his voice on instinct. In spite of the fact that he was investigating treason committed by the queen and/or her family, this somehow felt far more dangerous, and likely it was. He dreaded what would happen if somebody overheard them discussing it.

Aly had set Crystal to sniffing out any secret passages in the Tower on their first night. Oberyn had thought that she was being ridiculous, overly-fearful due to what happened to her family, at first. Then Crystal had discovered seven passages, four of them in the various bedrooms. There was evidence of a few of them being used in recent times, though by whom none of them knew. He had not doubted her knowledge on the Red Keep ever since.

Daemon's expression turned grim. On learning of the secret Ser Jaime had been hiding for so many years, Oberyn had hand-picked his seven of his most trusted men, sworn them to secrecy with multiple oaths to the Gods, Old and New alike, and entrusted them with the dangerous task of finding the wildfire caches. They were making steady but extremely slow progress with the whole thing, aided greatly by the fact that a member of the group was Rodrik Snow. He was one of the men who had come south as a guard for Aly on their marriage. Rodrik was the bastard son of an architect and a daughter of House Borrell from the Sisters and had used his knowledge to identify the most likely places in the city for the wildfire to be. So far, he had only been wrong once that Oberyn knew of.

"We have located four of the caches so far, using the maps of the city and Rodrik's knowledge of building from his father," his old squire informed him in an equally low tone. "But our progress is slow, as we do not dare allow anybody to realize what we are doing."

"Continue with the greatest of discretion then," Oberyn ordered grimly. "Take however long is necessary, but _nobody_ can be allowed to learn of this." He was repeating himself for the Gods-knew-how-many time, but the importance of keeping the knowledge of the caches hidden could not be over-stated. Disturbing as it was, the chance that somebody might take advantage of the wildfire caches to eliminate their opponents and gain more power was strong.

Courtiers were mad with the desire for power and wealth, and it was quite possibly contagious. People seemed to get worse, steadily losing their morals, the longer they were in the blasted capital. Oberyn wanted to get his family away as quickly as possible, before any of them caught the disease of power-grabbing and stabbing each other in the back to climb the ladder of wealth and power. Or worse, before they were victims of others' desire for power.

'_In the Game of Thrones, Oberyn,' _Aly had said to him with a dark expression. _'You have only two possible endings: winning or dying. For the sake of our family, we __**must**__ win.'_

He had never been so grateful to anybody as he was to his goodbrother when Aly had informed him that Magnar Stark had made arrangements for a Northron ship to be docked at the nearest harbour, ready and waiting to flee the moment his family was aboard. The gods must have been smiling on him, because one of the passages even led right to the docks where the ship was. Stark had even delegated members of the Ice Guard to join Oberyn's household, to increase the protection on his family. It eased the weight on Oberyn's shoulders, knowing that, should things go sour, his wife and children would be safe.

Daemon held out the tunic, and Oberyn slid his hands through the armholes before his former squire did up the tunic and slung an orange cloak on over his shoulders. Then he clasped Oberyn's cloak at the throat with the Hand's badge of office. Oberyn was silent the entire time, musing over what he knew.

"The armourer lives above his shop, in a large house at the top of the Street of Steel," Daemon informed him. "Andrey knows the way, my lord."

Oberyn nodded. "The gods help this potboy if he's sent me off haring after shadows." It was a slim enough staff to lean on, but the Jon Arryn that Oberyn had known was not one to wear jewelled and silvered plate. He had always said that steel was steel; it was meant for protection, _not _for ornamentation. He might have changed his views, of course. He would certainly not have been the first man who came to look on things differently after a few years at court. But the change was marked enough to make Oberyn wonder.

"Is there any other service that I might perform for you, my lord?"

"I suppose that you had best begin visiting whorehouses," Oberyn smirked.

"A hard duty indeed, my lord." Daemon grinned. "But I shall force myself to do so for your sake. I am sure that the men will be glad to help. Alaric has made a fair start already."

"Just make sure that my wife does not hear about it," Oberyn warned with a grin that his old squire returned. "Or she will have you all skinned."

Oberyn's favourite horse, one of the unicorn cross-breeds bred with his old sand stallion, was saddled and waiting in the yard. Alester and Ryon fell in beside him on their own mounts as he rode Helios through the yard. As the Lord of Dorne passed beneath the King's Gate into the stink of the city, his orange cloak streaming from his shoulders, he saw eyes everywhere and kicked his horse into a trot. His guard followed.

He couldn't keep himself from looking around himself frequently as they made their way through the crowded city streets. Quentyn and Joss had left the castle early this morning to take up positions on the route they must take, and watch for anyone following them, but even so, Oberyn felt uncomfortable and tense. The shadow of the King's Spider and his little birds had him fretting worse than a maiden on her wedding night.

The Street of Steel began at the market square beside the Mud Gate. A mummer on stilts was striding through the throngs like some great insect, with a horde of barefoot children trailing behind him, hooting. Elsewhere, two ragged boys no older than Arron were duelling with sticks, to the loud encouragement of some and the furious curses of others. An old woman ended the contest by leaning out of her window and emptying a bucket of slops on the heads of the combatants. In the shadow of the wall, farmers stood beside their wagons, bellowing out, "Apples, the best apples, cheap at twice the price," and "Blood melons, sweet as honey," and "Turnips, onions, roots, here you go here, here you go, turnips, onions, roots, here you go here."

Recalling Aly's latest craving, Oberyn made a quick mental note to have a servant purchase some of the blood oranges available for her.

The Gate was open, and a squad of City Watchmen stood under the portcullis in their golden cloaks, leaning on spears. When a column of riders appeared from the west, the guardsmen sprang into action, shouting commands and moving the carts and foot traffic aside to let the knight enter with his escort.

The first rider through the gate carried a long black banner. The silk rippled in the wind like a living thing; across the fabric was blazoned a night sky slashed with purple lightning. Oberyn recognized it as the banner of House Dondarrion, a Marcher house.

"Make way for Lord Beric!" the rider shouted. "Make way for Lord Beric!" And close behind came the young lord himself, a dashing figure on a black courser, with red-gold hair and a black satin cloak dusted with stars.

"Here to fight in the Hand's tourney, my lord?" a guardsman called out to him.

"Here to win the Hand's tourney," Lord Beric shouted back as the crowd cheered.

Ignoring them, Oberyn turned off the square where the Street of Steel began and followed its winding path up a long hill, past blacksmiths working at open forges, freeriders haggling over mail shirts, and grizzled ironmongers selling old blades and razors from their wagons. The farther they climbed, the larger the buildings grew. The man they wanted was all the way at the top of the hill, in a huge house of timber and plaster whose upper stories loomed over the narrow street. The double doors showed a hunting scene carved from ebony and (to Oberyn's surprise) weirwood. A pair of stone statues stood sentry at the entrance, armoured in fanciful suits of polished red steel that transformed them into griffin and unicorn. Oberyn left his horse with Jacks and shouldered his way inside.

The slim young serving girl took quick note of Oberyn's badge and the sigil on his doublet, and the master came hurrying out, all smiles and bows.

"Wine for the King's Hand," he told the girl, gesturing Oberyn to a couch. "I am Tobho Mott, my lord, please, please, put yourself at ease."

He wore a black velvet coat with hammers embroidered on the sleeves in silver thread and around his neck was a heavy silver chain with a sapphire as large as a pigeon's egg dangling from it. "If you are in need of new arms for the Hand's tourney, you have come to the right shop."

Oberyn did not bother to correct him. At one point, he had taken part in every tourney he heard of, and built quite a good reputation for himself. But it had been years since that, and he had no intention of risking distressing his pregnant wife by participating in an event he had grown to hate. He could not think of tourneys without thinking of Harrenhal.

"My work is costly, and I make no apologies for that, my lord," Mott stated as he filled two matching silver goblets. "But you will not find craftsmanship equal to mine anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms, I promise you. Visit every forge in King's Landing if you like, and compare for yourself. Any village smith can hammer out a shirt of mail; my work is _art_."

Oberyn sipped his wine silently and let the man go on.

The Knight of Flowers bought all his armour here, Tobho boasted, and many other high lords, and including Lord Renly, the king's own brother. Perhaps the Hand had seen Lord Renly's new armour, the green plate with the golden antlers? No other armorer in the city could get that deep a green; he knew the secret of putting colour in the steel itself, paint and enamel were the crutches of a journeyman. Or mayhaps the Hand wanted a blade? Tobho had learned to work Valyrian steel at the forges of Qohor as a boy. Only a man who knew the spells could take old weapons and forge them anew.

Oberyn had nearly laughed at that. The secret of creating and working Valyrian steel was long-lost, even to the Qorhorians. If he had not thought so before, then Oberyn would have known with that claim alone that the man's attempting to trick him.

"The sun is the sigil of House Martell, is it not?" Tobho said before proceeding without waiting for Oberyn to confirm it. "I could fashion a sun-shaped helm made of gold, so bright that people will be blinded by it in the dead of night," he vowed.

Oberyn smiled, picturing Aly's expression if he did buy such a thing. She would have Crystal rip his neck out for the waste of coin. Would gold even be effective as protection? "Did you make a falcon helm for Lord Arryn?" Oberyn inquired casually.

Tobho Mott paused a long moment and set aside his wine. "The Hand did call upon me, with Lord Stannis, the king's brother. I regret to say, they did not honour me with their patronage."

Oberyn looked at the man evenly, saying nothing, waiting. Aly had taught him over the years that silence sometimes yielded more than questions, no matter how much he itched to demand answers. He sensed that it so it was this time.

"They asked to see the boy," the armourer explained, "so I took them back to the forge."

"The boy," Oberyn echoed. He had no clue as to whom the boy might be. "I should like to see the boy as well."

Tobho Mott gave him a cool, careful look. "As you wish, my lord," he said without any trace of his former friendliness, though he was not openly hostile either. He led Oberyn out of a rear door and across a narrow yard, back to the cavernous stone barn where the work was all being done. When the armourer opened the door, the blast of hot air that came through made even Oberyn, who was a Dornishman to the core and thus borne for heat, feel as though he were walking into a dragon's mouth. Inside, a forge blazed in each corner, and the air stank of smoke and sulphur. Journeymen armourers glanced up from their hammers and tongs just long enough to wipe the sweat from their brows, while bare-chested apprentice boys worked the bellows.

The master called over a tall lad a little older than Rickard was, his arms and chest corded with muscle and his hands worn from work. Looking at the apprentice, Oberyn was sent back in time to his youth in the Eyrie for a moment, before Mott's voice brought him back to the present.

"This is Lord Martell, the new Hand of the King," Mott told the lad as the boy looked at Oberyn through sullen blue eyes and pushed back sweat-soaked hair with his fingers. Thick hair, shaggy and unkempt and black as ink. The shadow of a new beard darkened his jaw. "This is Gendry, one of my apprentices. He's strong for his age, and he works hard. Show the Lord Hand that helmet you made, lad."

Almost shyly, the boy led them to his bench, and a steel helm shaped like a bull's head, with two great curving horns.

Oberyn turned the helm over in his hands. It was raw steel, unpolished but expertly shaped. "This is fine work," he complimented truthfully. "I would be pleased if you would let me buy it." Aly would not complain about money spent on something like this, given it was actually useful.

The boy snatched it out of his hands. "It's not for sale."

Mott looked horror-struck by the boy's refusal. "Boy, this is the King's Hand!" he barked at his apprentice. "If his lordship wants this helm, make him a gift of it. He honours you by asking."

"I made it for me," Gendry insisted stubbornly.

"A hundred pardons, my lord," his master said hurriedly to Oberyn, who was more concerned with studying the boy thoughtfully. The attitude was different enough, but there_ were_ similarities in that also. "The boy is crude as new steel, and like new steel would profit from some beating. That helm is journeyman's work at best. Forgive him and I promise that I will craft you a helm like none you have ever seen, and 'twill cost you not a copper, I swear it."

It was clear that the man had great affection for his apprentice, and Oberyn appreciated that.

"He's done nothing that requires my forgiveness," Oberyn said dismissively. "I can well understand why he would want to keep such an expertly-made piece. Gendry, when Lord Arryn came to see you, what did you talk about?"

"He asked me questions is all, m'lord."

"What sort of questions?"

Gendry shrugged. "How was I, and was I well treated, and if I liked the work, and stuff about my mother. Who she was and what she looked like and all."

"What did you tell him?" Oberyn pressed.

The boy shoved a fresh fall of black hair off his forehead. "She died when I was little. She had yellow hair, and sometimes she used to sing to me, I remember. She worked in an alehouse."

"Did Lord Stannis question you as well?"

"The bald one? No, not him. He never said no word, just glared at me, like I was some raper who done for his daughter."

"Mind your filthy tongue," the master snapped. "This is the King's own Hand." The boy lowered his eyes. "A smart boy, but stubborn. That helm . . . the others call him bull-headed, so he threw it in their teeth."

Oberyn touched the boy's head, fingering the thick black hair. "Look at me, Gendry." The apprentice lifted his face. Oberyn studied the shape of his jaw, the eyes like blue ice. Yes, he thought, it is most definitely so. Looking at him is like going back in time.

"Go back to your work, lad. I'm sorry to have bothered you." He walked back to the house with the master. "Who paid the boy's apprentice fee?" he asked lightly.

Mott looked fretful. "You saw the boy. Such a strong boy. Those hands of his, those hands were made for hammers. He had such promise, I took him on without a fee."

"The truth now," Oberyn urged. "The streets are full of strong boys. The day you take on an apprentice without a fee will be the day the Wall melts. Who paid for him?"

"A lord," the master revealed with great reluctance. "He gave no name, and wore no sigil on his coat. He paid in gold, twice the customary sum, and said he was paying once for the boy, and once for my silence."

"Describe him."

"He was stout, round of shoulder, not so tall as you. Brown beard, but there was a bit of red in it, I'll swear. He wore a rich cloak, that I do remember, heavy purple velvet worked with silver threads, but the hood shadowed his face and I never did see him clear." He hesitated a moment. "My lord, I want no trouble."

"None of us wants trouble, but I fear these are troubled times, Master Mott," Oberyn answered. "You know who the boy is."

"I am only an armourer, my lord. I know what I'm told."

"You know who the boy is," Oberyn repeated. "That is not a question."

"The boy is my apprentice," the master said. He looked Oberyn in the eye, stubborn as old iron. "Who he was before he came to me, that's none of my concern."

Oberyn nodded. He decided that he liked Tobho Mott, the master armourer who was so protective of the apprentice he had raised. "If the day ever comes when Gendry would rather wield a sword than forge one, send him to me. He has the look of a great warrior about him. Until then, you have my thanks, Master Mott, and my promise. Should I ever want a helm to blind people in the dead of night, this will be the first place I visit."

His guard was waiting outside with the horses. "Did you find anything, my lord?" Ryon asked as Oberyn mounted up.

"I did," Oberyn confirmed, wondering about the strangeness of it all. What had Jon Arryn and Stannis Baratheon wanted with a king's bastard, and why was it worth Jon's life?


	18. Alysanne IV

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**I know the twins Cersei had murdered were born/killed in Casterly Rock, but for the sake of the story I am making it King's Landing instead.**

**Direwolf Names (Aly's generation):**

**Brandon: Silver**

**Eddard: Laochra (means "hero")**

**Lyanna: Eirwen (means "white as snow")**

**Alysanne: Crystal**

**Benjen: Cole**

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Alysanne IV**

_**King's Landing: July 1**__**st**__**, 298 AC**_

Aly had not bothered to attend the tourney. Nor would Oberyn be attending the first day either. Her husband was busy working to ensure that the realm did not fall apart because its so-called king was too busy bedding whores and drinking himself to death to rule it, and Aly herself had her own task to perform today, a far more important one than sitting watching a bunch of arrogant southron idiots try and get themselves killed over a bag of gold they would inevitably waste on useless luxuries. She had left her children to watch the tourney in Myriame's care whilst she went to do her task, preparing herself mentally as best she could for it, as it would not be easy. Personal tasks rarely were, of course.

Her carriage pulled up in front of the ramshackle boarding house, and Ser Daemon opened the door to help her climb down from it. His expression was tense and worried, and he looked around as she descended from the carriage. At five moons pregnant, her stomach was beginning to hamper her movements, though Aly refused to let that stop her. Winter was Coming and Aly was Unbowed, Unbent and Unbroken.

"Milady, I do not like this," Daemon informed her. "Fleabottom is no place for the wife of the Hand of the King to be. Or _any_ lady, for that matter."

"Yet it is where I am," Aly replied calmly, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. Her patience for southron thoughts of what women should and should not do lessened whenever she carried a babe within in, and it only got worse with each passing moon. Crystal jumped down after her and she patted her companion's head fondly.

"Do not be so concerned, Ser Daemon," she told her guard, softening at the anxious look in his eyes. He was a good man, and only worried for her safety. She was being unfair to him. She blamed the discomfort of being with child, which by default meant her sullen mood and short temper was Oberyn's fault, and she would need to chide him for it at some point soon. This would be their last child, she swore it. And yes, she had said that during each of pregnancies before deciding she wanted another babe sometime later, but this time she _meant_ it.

"I am quite safe, I am sure," she continued. "I have you, Sers Garris, Andrey, and Theomore to protect me. Not to mention Crystal, who is worth another five guards by herself. In addition to all of that, I am not without the ability to defend myself long enough for help to arrive either. I promised the matrons that I would come to see Hanna, and that is what I shall do."

Ser Daemon looked reluctant, but did not bother to try and protest any further as Aly walked up to the door of the small thatch-roofed boarding house and rapped on it, Crystal at her heels and her guards surrounding her. She could see the people peering at her group with interest and suspicion, but the heavily-armoured guards and Crystal's large and fierce-looking appearance kept them from approaching her.

The door opened a fraction and an eye appeared in the opening. "Who's it?" a woman demanded gruffly. The men bristled, but Aly remained calm, smiling genially.

"I am Lady Alysanne Martell," she explained gently. "Wife to his Lordship, the Hand of the King. I am here to see Hanna."

The door opened fully to reveal a wide-eyed, elderly woman. She gave a clumsy curtsey. "I beg yer fergiveness, milady," she stammered. "I didn'-"

Aly raised a hand, still smiling. "Do not worry, Mistress," she assured the woman. "I have taken no offense, I promise you that. You are quite right to be cautious about the safety of the people who live here. Might I be permitted to enter and see Hanna, please?"

The woman glanced anxiously at her guards. "We don' permi' men in 'ere, milady," she said nervously. "It', the girls- an', an' some o' them-"

"My men will remain outside then," Aly declared.

"Lady Martell!" Daemon protested. "His Lordship-"

"I will deal with my husband, should it be necessary," Aly replied to him firmly. "But Mistress, ah, forgive me, I do not know your name."

"Melessa, milady," she whispered.

Aly nodded, flashing the woman another smile, trying to assure her though she knew that it was probably hopeless. Queen Cersei, unlike Queen Rhaella, never bothered to step foot in the poorer areas of town, or even outside of the keep most of the time. Given the woman had a Riverlands accent was thus likely relatively new to the capital, Gods only knew how long it had been since the woman had laid eyes on a highborn person of either gender, and she had probably never spoken to any at all. She surely had no experience with a noble lady coming to speak with her kindly, or looking for one of her girls.

"Mistress Melessa is quite right to deny men entrance to a women and children's boarding house," Aly continued. "I shall be perfectly fine. Is it acceptable for my wolf to come inside with me, Mistress? I promise that Crystal is well trained. She will harm nobody."

Eyeing Crystal dubiously, the woman nodded a fraction. Daemon sighed and gave in. He had known Aly for long enough to realize when she would give in and when she would not. This was definitely one of the latter times.

Satisfied, Aly turned back to Melessa. "May I see Hanna?" she inquired again.

Melessa allowed her entrance, wiping her hands on her heavy apron anxiously. "I will brin' ya ta 'er, milady," she said. "Bu' I can' say if she'll speak ta ya. She's bin distraught fer moons. E'er since 'er poor babes died, gods rest their little souls."

Aly nodded solemnly. "I heard," she sighed. "I used to visit the orphanage that she grew up in, back when I served Queen Rhaella and the late Princess Lyanna as a lady-in-waiting. That is how I know her. I have been visiting the places we used to go ever since I came with my husband to the capital. The matrons told me of Hanna's sorrow, and what caused it. I wished to see if I could provide any solace to her."

"Yer the kindest lady I e'er me', milady," Melessa replied seriously as she led the way up a narrow staircase. "I didn' live 'ere in the capital when the dragons ruled, bu' I 'ear thin's. I can' say tha' I care 'oo rules, bu' it sounds ta me tha' the loss o' Queen Rhaella an' the Prince and Princess were tragedies. Sure as the sky's blue, 'em two up a' tha castle callin' 'emselves rulers don' give a damn abou' anythin' other than their wine and fancy trinkets. Not like the Silver Prince an' his lovely wife an' mother."

Abruptly, she appeared to realize whom she was speaking to, and looked stricken. "Fergive me, milady," she rushed out. "I didn' mean ta speak ill o' Their Graces, they-"

"Hush now," Aly murmured, reaching out to clasp the woman's hand. "Do not fear. I quite agree with you, I fear. The world would have been a greater place for everyone, had the crown been put on the head of Rhaegar the First, not Robert the First."

Melessa swallowed and did not reply to Aly's remark as she stopped outside a shut door, gesturing to it. "This is Hanna's room," she said. "Bu', 's like I said, milady. She's not bin speakin' ta anybody since she los' 'er boys. 's all we can do ta make 'er ea', mos' days."

"I will try anyway," Aly stated firmly. Melessa nodded and opened the door, stepping inside.

"'anna, love?" she called gently. "Someone's 'ere ta see ya." There was no answer, and Melessa shrugged helplessly as she turned to Aly.

Aly nodded and stepped past her into the room, with Crystal following. "I would like to speak to you before I leave," she told the woman. "I promise, you need not fear my guards, but if it makes yourself and the others more comfortable, then feel free to bar the doors."

Melessa looked a mixture of relieved and guilty. "Fergive me for any insul', milady, bu' I migh' do jus' tha'," she agreed. "'s jus'-"

"I understand," Aly cut her off, gently resting a hand on the woman's shoulder. She truly did. This was a boarding house for women who had been raped, were fleeing abusive male relatives, or had been orphaned or widowed and had nowhere else to go. Many were mothers with young children to support alone. They stayed afloat by running a seamstress service, but Aly had no doubt that it was a great struggle, especially without alms from the Crown. With so many women who had been terrorized by men living in the building, the corruption of the city guard that was only just starting to be tackled by her husband and Ser Brynden, and without any trusted men around to protect them either, Aly did not think that anybody could justifiably blame them for fearing men. Regrettably, she knew that many would anyway.

Aly already intended to alter her budget again so that she could be diverting some more funds towards giving alms to the place after this, a fact she intended to inform Mistress Melessa of at the end of her visit. And perhaps she would see if she could organize some form of protection for the women and children living there. As the Green Men preached, it was the duty of the highborn to care for and protect their smallfolk. The smallfolk of King's Landing were untended to by the queen who was responsible for them, and so it fell to Aly to do so in the dratted woman's place.

If only Queen Rhaella or Lyanna were here, this would never have happened. Rhaegar would never have allowed the city to fall into such straits. He had been a People's Prince, and Aly had seen more than a bit of evidence that the smallfolk still mourned him. They cared little for who sat on the Iron Throne, but Rhaegar, Lyanna and Rhaella had all cared for them, and shown it. Robert and Cersei did _not_. Their lives had been better beneath the Targaryens, in spite of Aerys' insanity, which had rarely touched the commons. That mattered a great deal to the smallfolk.

Robert was an arrogant, self-centred fool, and Cersei was even worse. The commons would not put up with the state of things forever. Aly looked forward to it, honestly. The Usurper and his lioness whore of a wife deserved to suffer for their crimes. Aly did not typically consider herself to be a vindictive woman. Hatred was exhausting. But for those traitors, she made an exception.

Melessa nodded and left to respond to a child's cry from the level above, leaving Aly alone to go inside the bedroom.

It was a small room, the size of a stall in the castle stables in her estimation. The floorboards were bare and they creaked under her feet as she stepped inside. There was a small bed shoved into the corner, with a slim young woman lying beneath a faded and patched woollen blanket, staring vacantly up at the ceiling and not responding to Aly's arrival at all. The room itself was almost bereft of any furniture at all except the bed, a small stand for a candle, a hook on the wall for a spare dress and a wooden cradle at the end of the bed, with two ragged teddy bears and a small blanket left on it. Thinking of Hanna's lost babes, Aly felt her heart ache in sympathy.

She had lost two children herself, one to miscarriage and one who had died within hours of his birth. Not even the massacre of her family during the Sack had made her as distraught. Had she not had her other children to live for, Aly would have taken her husband's dagger and opened her wrists with it after her sweet little Morgan had died in her arms.

He had been so very small, the only one of her babes to inherit her pale complexion instead of his father's olive one. His breaths had come in painful wheezes. Oberyn had raged and wept and cursed when he stopped doing so, and Aly had pressed desperately on his tiny chest, put her mouth over his as if she could force him back to life. Oberyn had eventually been forced to pull her son's tiny body from her arms as she clawed at the his face to try and stop him from taking her babe away, weeping hysterically until they forced sweetsleep down her throat to make her sleep.

Yet, it had been during those awful days of grief that she had started to genuinely love her husband, instead of just having a measure of fondness and respect for him. He had sat beside her, coaxing her back from her haze of bereavement and self-blame, assuring her that it was not her fault, reminding her that Rickard, the Sand Snakes and eleven-month-old Lia all needed her still.

"Hanna," she called, pushing away the grim memories. "Hanna, may I come in?"

There was no reply, so Aly made her way her inside, ignoring the squeaking of the floorboards, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

She reached out to move a lock of auburn hair out of Hanna's face and then stroked her cheek, trying to make her react in some manner. "Hanna," she repeated. "Sweetling, do you remember me?"

At last, Hanna responded to her. She shifted her head and peered at Aly's listlessly, squinting through blue eyes, dulled by grief. "Princess Lya?" she frowned. Then she shook her head. "No. No. Princess Lya's dead. Dead with 'er babes. Like me boys. Yer Magnara Aly. Ya tol' us stories, an' brough' us parchmen' an' showed us 'ow ta draw. I liked yer stories. Ya would 'ave pictures ta go with 'em, so tha' we coul' imagine i' be'er."

"That's right," Aly encouraged her softly. "Look, Crystal is with me. Do you remember her as well?"

Hanna nodded, looking at the wolf who took up the rest of the room with her bulk, in spite of being the smallest of her litter.

"Yea, I 'member," she confirmed. "You 'ad Crystal, an' Princess Lya 'ad Eirwen, who's name meant somethin' ta do with snow, an' Magnar Ben 'ad Cole 'cause 'o 'ow dark 'is fur was, an' tha Kingsguard, Brandon 'oo was real 'andsome an' charmin' and made ev'ryone blush, 'e had Silver. We were frightened o' 'em a' firs', 'cause 'o 'ow big they are, bu' they usedta play with us, an' lick our faces like liddle puppies."

"Yes, they did, and you would all laugh fiercely whenever they did it," Aly replied, pleased by the amount of talk she had managed to coax from the devastated young woman.

Hanna gave a brief smile, but then her face crumpled. "Me boys'd've loved 'em!" she declared, bursting into heaving sobs that made her malnourished frame shake with the force of them.

"Oh, sweetling," Aly sighed heavily, pulling the girl into her arms and stroking her dark red curls. "Hush, hush. I know that it is not alright, and that you will always grieve your boys. But life goes on, my love. Why don't you tell me of them?"

Hanna sniffled and spoke. "Twins, they were," she informed Aly. "Jus' babes. I named 'em, I named 'em Rhaegar an' Brandon, 'cause the prince an' yer brother were some o' the best men I e'er met. I'd'a bin the proudest woman alive, if my boys got ta be 'alf tha men they were."

"They would have been honoured," Aly assured her truthfully. Hanna briefly looked pleased before her face crumpled again.

"They were such 'andsome lads," she sniffled. "Big an' strong. Tha same blue eyes an' black 'air as their father." She froze and cast a guilty look at Aly. "I didn' wanna do i'," she defended herself. "No' af'er 'ow 'e killed tha Prince an' the stuff 'e did ta poor Princess Lya an' 'er babes. Bu', 'e's tha king, an' he tol' me 'e wanted me ta come ta 'is rooms, an'-"

"It's alright, sweetling," Aly assured her gently. "I understand. You cannot refuse a king. I know, it's alright."

It was a painful fact that highborn men would not typically accept a lowborn woman refusing their advances. They would push until the woman gave in, or else simply force the matter physically. In general, most maids simply gave in to avoid angering the lord who desired them, risking harm to themselves or loss of employment, and prayed that they would be able to hide their ruin, or that their men would forgive them.

Hanna nodded gratefully and continued with talking about her sons. "They were such good boys," she said. "'ardly e'er cried or nothin'. I was nervous the 'ole o' me pregnancy, bu' tha second tha' I 'eld 'em, I knew tha' I'd burn tha w'ole world ta a crisp fer 'em. But I couldn't do nothin' ta save 'em from _'er_."

She spat the last word with utter loathing and venom, briefly coming alive with raw hatred. Aly frowned, a dark suspicion coming to life within her mind. Hanna, a former laundress at the Red Keep, had born two bastard sons of the king. And now she was speaking of being unable to shield her sons from a woman.

"The queen?" she inquired lowly. Hanna nodded, expression dark with anger and grief.

"Aye," she confirmed bitterly. "Damn 'er ta tha deepest o' the 'ells an' may she rot there."

"What happened, sweetling?" Aly pressed as gently as she could, though she thought that she knew the outline already.

Hanna sniffed and explained, the raw agony in her eyes shattering Aly's heart.

"They was only six moons ol' at tha time," she said dully. "I was bringin' 'em ta work with me. They'd be in a basket, 'appy ou', while I did tha washin'. Then one day, 'm just scrubbin' some sheets, an' tha queen comes stormin' in with a coupla guards. 'er blasted redcloaks. She 'ad 'em 'old me by tha arms while she 'eld me boys under tha water ta drown 'em. I begged an' pleaded, bu' she jus' ignored me. She jus' killed 'em, with 'er own 'ands. Me boys. She killed 'em, and they was just liddle babes, they wasn't a threat ta anybody. 'e didn' know 'bout them, I wasn' gonna go an' tell 'im or anythin', I swear! They was just _babes_!"

She descended into another round of sobs, whilst Aly pulled her close and rubbed her back soothingly, ignoring the wet stain forming on her shoulder as her mind worked furiously.

"She will not get away with her crimes, I promise you that, Hanna," Aly whispered into her ear. "By earth and fire, by bronze and iron, by ice and fire, in the sight of the Old Gods who watch us now, I vow to you that Cersei will pay for everything she has done."

A great many commoners, more than many nobles or septons and septas realized, followed the Old Gods, for the pure and simple fact that the Green Men never demanded tithes that they couldn't afford to pay. Hanna, like everyone else who had grown up in the Green Man-supported orphanage in Fleabottom, was one of them. She knew the strength of the oath that Aly had just made.

"So mote it said, so mote it be, an' may tha Ol' Gods strike ya down if yer a liar," the girl replied solemnly, still leaning into Aly's embrace, though now her tears fell silently instead.

She stayed a while longer, soothing Hanna, telling her stories and listening to her describe her lost sons, before the dimming sunlight prodded her into leaving. She kissed the girl's cheek and promised to return, before heading back down the stairs again. In the foyer, she found Mistress Melessa, seated on a chair and working on patching a dress for a young girl with a young toddler sucking his tiny fingers and sitting in a basket at Melessa's feet. There was another chair placed beneath the door-handle, and the lock was done.

The woman hastily rose on Aly's appearance, making another awkward attempt at a curtsey. Aly gave a strained smile to her, inclining her head politely and bidding her to rise.

"I spoke with her for awhile, and she did respond," Aly commented. Melessa gasped at that, looking relieved and hopeful.

"Truly, milady?" she asked eagerly. "We've bin doin' our bes', bu' wha' 'appened ta 'er boys..."

"Aye, I know," Aly agreed sadly. "A horrible, unnecessary tragedy. I lost two children, but that was the will of the Gods. I cannot imagine how horrific it was for her. But yes, she did speak with me. I shall return when I can, though I cannot say when it shall be. For the moment," she paused and untied the coin purse on her hip, handing it over to Melessa.

The matron's eyes went wide as saucers when she heard the clinking of the coins, and she stared in shock at the money inside after she undid the strings to peer inside. Aly smiled at her, sympathetic to the tears welling within the woman's eyes.

"This is all I am able to give for now," Aly told the overwrought woman gently. "But I shall do my best to ensure that I send more."

"Milady, I cannot express me thanks enough," Melessa wept. "Yer an angel, tha's whatcha are. Gods bless you, milady. Gods bless you."

Aly shook her head, but did not insult the woman by claiming that providing money to help the residents of the building was nothing. That demeaned what their lives were worth. "I must be going, unfortunately," she stated apologetically.

Melessa, still shaken with tears in her grey-blue eyes, hiccupped and nodded, hastening to remove the chair and undo the lock to allow Aly to exit, saying more blessings as she went. Aly gave her goodbyes, then allowed the tense Ser Daemon to escort her to the waiting carriage where she and Crystal clambered inside and the carriage shuttered into motion, returning to the Red Keep, Aly lost herself in troubled thoughts that she had forced herself not to dwell on whilst with Hanna.

Cersei had murdered two infants. Her hands clenched into fists so tight that she felt blood well from the shallow indents she created in her palms. Gods, had the woman no shame or heart at all? She was a mother herself, yet she was perfectly willing to kill children! She forced herself to put aside her emotions and think with cold analysis, as otherwise she would storm through the Red Keep until she got to the queen and ripped her thrice-damned golden head off.

She focused her thoughts on the main question her visit had prompted.

_Why _would Cersei kill a pair of her husband's bastards?

Oh, Aly knew the danger of royal bastards perfectly well. She was a descendant of the Kings of Winter and the granddaughter of a Targaryen Princess, after all. Her father had lost his arm fighting in the War of the Ninepenny Kings that at last ended the threat of the Blackfyres. A royal bastard could be a dangerous thing.

In fact, Aly's original motives for treating her stepdaughters as her own had not been so altruistic as they might appear. She had gotten with child on her wedding night, and by the time she'd arrived at Sunspear she was already visibly pregnant. On discovering the presence of the young trio of girls, she had known that she had two options.

Either she could copy the actions of southron women and treat them with, at best, indifference, making them outsiders of their own family and risking both her husband's ire and causing them to resent both her and their trueborn half-siblings.

Or, she could do as Winterlander woman did and treat them lovingly, as if they were her own blood, and encourage them to bond with their younger half-siblings, thus ensuring their loyalty to the family. It had been a simple choice, and she had grown to genuinely love the three girls.

But Hanna's twins had not been a threat to Cersei's children. They were lowborn and unacknowledged by their father, and but infants at that. Even if they were acknowledged by Robert, or even legitimized through some mad miracle such as when Aegon the Unworthy had legitimized all of his own bastards on his deathbed (and the Unworthy reminded Aly a bit of Robert Baratheon. He too had been a great warrior in his youth, and he too had allowed himself to descend into whoring and gluttony after gaining the throne.), the twins would not have threatened Cersei's children's inheritance. They were lowborn twins over a decade younger than Joffrey, born to a laundress. Nobody would have supported them over the treuborn Crown Prince.

If Cersei was going to worry about any of her husband's natural children, she ought to be concerned about his _acknowledged_ children. He had two that Aly knew of. A girl, his eldest known child, in the Vale, and a boy sired on a noblewoman who was fostered at Lord Renly's seat of Dragonstone. Edric Waters, Aly thought the boy's name was.

That Cersei, the daughter of Tywin Lannister, who had climbed to power by murdering women and children, had murdered a pair of innocent babes did not surprise Aly, though it angered her. But the action puzzled her as well because she couldn't understand the logic behind it. She was missing something, some key part of the puzzle. It all centred around Robert's bastards, clearly. It seemed like it was linked to Lord Arryn and Lord Stannis' investigation too, given they had been looking into the king's natural children. Aly felt sure that, once she found the missing piece, she would at last understand why Jon Arryn had been murdered, why Cersei had killed Hanna's babes.

But she simply couldn't think what it was, and Aly brooded over the whole thing until she arrived back at the Keep. It seemed that most people had yet to return from the tourney grounds after the end of the first day of jousting, meaning the keep was mostly empty, allowing Aly to dwell on everything she knew as she headed back to the Tower of the Hand.

The answer was staring them both in the face, she just knew it. Whenever she and her husband at last managed to find the missing piece of the puzzle, they would be kicking themselves for taking so long to realize what they were missing.

She arrived back at the Tower shortly before Oberyn and the children returned. To her dismay, her children were all shaken and shocked.

"A man _died_, Mother!" Mariah blurted out the minute she saw Aly, darting in for a tight embrace. The boys, who usually tried to act grown up now that they were all out of the nursery, came to her for comfort. Even her two stepdaughters, came over to join the hug, all of them pale and upset, Lia with shimmering eyes. None of her children had ever seen a man die before, and clearly it had shaken them all up a great deal.

"It was terrible, Mama," Arron whimpered. "Ser Gregor jabbed him right through his neck, and blood went everywhere, and-"

"Oh, my poor desert wolves, how frightening for you all to see," she murmured, her heart jumped at the name of her sister's murderer as she gathered them all to her bosom and murmured reassurances and comforting words to soothe them.

Eventually, they settled and dispersed, and Oberyn came over to pull her into his arms for a kiss. At first, she assumed that the reason he pressed his lips against her ear was a signal that he wanted her to join him in bed. It was a typical sign of his desires, in normal circumstances.

Evidently, her husband was learning how to act in King's Landing, because under the guise of nibbling at her ear he whispered to her so nobody else could learn what his words were. There was a large window just behind Aly's back, and she had already noticed one of the queen's spies in the window directly across from them, the pair of them in full view.

"The man who was killed by the Mountain was Jon's squire," he muttered to her as she pretended to kiss his jaw. "The Lannisters' most faithful attack dog conveniently killed one of the few people who might know anything relevant about Jon's investigation in the entire city, before I could find the time to question him myself. What do you think of that, my wife?"

"I think that if it is a coincidence," she whispered back, holding her lips just a fraction of a centimetre away from his mouth, as if she were kissing him. "Then it is a lucky one indeed for the lions. I have my own information to share with you, Husband. But first," she pulled away from him and adjusted her dress to fix it. "We ought to have dinner, my love," she stated. "Our children will be pleased to spend time with you. I will as well."

"And I with all of you," he sighed, reaching out to intertwine their fingers and lead her into the dining room where the children were all either seated or arguing over who was going to sit where, though they were more subdued than usual. "If the Gods are good, then when this blasted tourney is over I will no longer be so busy, and can cease neglecting my familial responsibilities at last."

"I look forward to it," she replied softly, just before they joined their children and had to put their private conversations aside in favour of being parents and settling their children's disputes.


	19. Aegon III

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Thanks for everyone's reviews! I hope it stays at the same standard. Not much longer until it starts fully straying from canon!**

**Keep reading, enjoying and reviewing!**

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Aegon III**

_**Volantis: 7**__**th**__** July, 298 AC**_

Talisa was with child. From their calculations, she had gotten pregnant around the date of his successful negotiations with the Triarchy. Perhaps that very night, given how they had celebrated his success. Aegon found himself constantly fussing over her, worried that something might happen. Many a woman lost children in the womb, and first pregnancies were especially at risk.

Yet even with his worry for both his wife and unborn child, he had never felt so happy, nor had he ever been so determined to regain what rightfully belonged to his family. His child deserved better than a life in exile, they deserved to be raised as the heir to the Iron Throne that they were.

He would win the war against the Usurper for them.

He observed the fleet from his position on the prow of the flagship _"Syrax"_. It was a modest fleet that Volantis had loaned, that was for sure, but soon enough it would be joined by those of the Winterlands and the Reach, not to mention their swords. They would take the Usurper and his supporters completely by surprise.

"Your Grace," Aegon turned away from the sight of his soldiers boarding their assigned ships and smiled at Ser Willem Darry. He was one of Aegon's most loyal subjects, and Aegon had rewarded him for it by naming him as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

Back during the Usurper's War, the Kingsguard had been made up of the best fighters of all time, many said. For all they had served a mad king, that particular Kingsguard had been considered one of the best incarnations of the Order: Lord Commander Ser Gerold "The White Bull" Hightower, the most recent Sword of Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Barristan "The Bold" Selmy, Aegon's own uncle Brandon "The Wild Wolf" Stark, the only man to ever be a part of the Kingsguard in spite of not being a knight, Ser Oswell Whent, Ser Jonothor Darry and Ser Jaime Lannister.

But when Aegon's father Prince Rhaegar had disappeared with the Martell woman, he had taken Sers Arthur and Oswell with him, and when he had returned after Ser Gerold was sent by Aerys to retrieve him, the royal guards had not come back with him. That had left the Targaryens with only Brandon, Ser Barristan, Ser Jonothor and Ser Jaime to defend them. Of those four, three had gone to the Trident where Ser Jonothor and Brandon had both given their lives for their prince, and Ser Barristan had become a turncloak and pledged himself to the Usurper in spite of there being three Targaryen males, not to mention Queen Rhaella and Princesses Lyanna and Daenerys, still alive at the time.

Aerys, not daring to send away Tywin's beloved son in fear of the West joining the rebels, had kept Jaime at his side when he sent Rhaella and Viserys to Dragonstone (not that it had stopped Tywin, in the end). Instead of having a whitecloak guard his wife and only remaining son, the faithful Ser Willem Darry had been charged with protecting them. For his many years of loyal service and the many sacrifices he had made in the name of serving the dragons, one of Aegon's first acts after turning fourteen (the age of manhood in Volantis and when his grandmother had stepped down as leader of the exiles) had been to name Ser Willem as the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard. Until then, his family had had no Kingsguard, for Queen Rhaella, in spite of being Aegon's Regent, did not have the power to name anybody to the Order. Upon reaching his majority (well, in the Winterlands and in Volantis it was his majority anyway), Aegon had set about naming men to his Kingsguard, so that his family would be better protected.

Other than Ser Willem, Aegon's guard contained: Ser Jorah Mormont (though his knighthood was a strange one. He had stood vigil in a godswood, said his own, made up, vows and been anointed with sap from a weirwood tree. Still, he was a good, loyal man and Aegon trusted him), Ser Wendyl Manderly, Ser Daeron Goodbrook, a Riverlander knight and the half-brother of the late Lord Goodbrook who had fallen fighting for the Targaryens at the Trident, Ser Thaddeus Darke from the Crownlands, Ser Matthos Sunderland from the Three Sisters, and Ser Brienne of Tarth, the newest member.

She was from the Stormlands, but Tarth had stayed loyal to the Targaryens during the Rebellion. Ser Brienne was the younger of Lord Selwyn's two surviving children, his son Galladon being the elder. They had contacted the rulers of Tarth several years past, and found that Lord Selwyn still preferred the Targaryens to the Baratheons. The Lords of Storm's End had generally been well-liked by their bannermen up until Robert had become Lord Paramount, and scorned his duties in favour of whoring at the Vale. Then Stannis had taken over, and people disliked his harsh manner, and his wife's haughty demeanour. The Tullys were considered upstarts by many, both within and without the Riverlands, and Lady Catelyn's arrogance, along with her husband's prejudice towards those of his vassals who had fought for the dragons, left them all eager to restore the Targaryens and see their hated liege lords punished. The Lord of Tarth had sent his only daughter to the dragons as proof his fealty, and due to her skills, Aegon had gone against convention and named her to his Kingsguard, ignoring the muttering.

His seven guards had all been chosen for their skills and loyalty, no other reason. Aegon would take no chances with the lives of those he loved.

In truth, the fact that the Kingsguard only consisted of seven members troubled the young king deeply. He understood that it was considered to be a place only for the best of the best, and that the number was chosen to represent the Seven-Who-Are-One. But the family was often underguarded due to the limited number of whitecloaks. Another of the many changes that Aegon intended to implement once he was king was a reworking of the Order, expanding it and also ensuring that it not only protected the king from outside threats, but from the king himself as well.

Never again would a king be permitted to brutally rape and torture his wife whilst the guards sworn to protect them both stood outside, unable to do anything but listen to the woman weep.

"Your Grace, the Small Council is ready for you," Ser Willem stated. "They wait at your pleasure in the war room, as you requested."

"Excellent," Aegon murmured. "I shall go now, then."

With Ser Willem at his side, Aegon made his way to the war room, where his council was speaking quietly with one another

His council too was made up of those who had been most devoted to his family, and he had plans to expand and reform it also. The amount had been sufficient when the council was first set up, but times had changed, and so the way of doing things needed to change also. Aegon was glad that Lord Connington had preserved his father's notes, because Rhaegar had had many of the same ideas that Aegon did, and begun working on ways to implement them in preparation for his crowning. For the moment, however, whilst he did not have an actual kingdom to rule, he kept the small council the way it had always been, with several other advisors who had no official titles.

First, there was his Hand of the King, his beloved grandmother Queen Dowager Rhaella. Aegon had chosen her for the position because he could think of no person that he trusted more, save for his twin sister. But unlike Dany, Rhaella had seen the reigns of three kings and had far more experience with politics and war than his sister. Some men, usually the newer recruits, grumbled over a woman holding such an exalted position, but Aegon ignored them. He was the King, his councillors were chosen by him. That was the end of the matter, as far as he was concerned.

His sister was his Mistress of Laws. Dany had a strict moral code, and vast knowledge on the laws and cultures of not just the Free Cities but each of the Seven Kingdoms as well.

His Master of Coin was Lord Theomore Whitewolf, a Northron man whose shrewd talent with money had saved their cause more than once. For the sake of deniability, Aegon did not ask where the man obtained the funds, unless Theo informed him outright.

Howland Reed, a Greenseer of the Order of Green Men, was Aegon's Master of Whispers. The man's greensight, his connections to the Warg Warriors and his own Order and his warging abilities meant that he far exceeded even the treacherous Spider when it came to finding out secrets. After all, people would always take a certain, subconscious amount of care when around others that they didn't know or trust, even if they dismissed them as irrelevant servants or smallfolk. But nobody bothered to watch what they said around a mouse or a bird. And unlike the Spider, Howland's loyalty was utterly unquestionable, unlike Varys who seemed to be out only for himself.

Ser Desmond Redwyne, a nephew of Lady Olenna Tyrell, was Aegon's Master of Ships. He and his wife, who had been a lady of Rhaella's and with child at the time, had also fled Dragonstone. They were the Targaryens' link to the Reach, allowing them to maintain their ties with Highgarden.

Unlike the Tullys, who would pay for their betrayal when Aegon took back the throne, the Tyrells had remembered just whom they owed their positions too. Aegon had promised that his eldest son would wed the Tyrell girl nearest his age as reward for their service, something that pleased the roses immensely.

Also attending the meeting was Scholar Cregard Scarstark, as their company had no maesters suitable to act as a GrandMaester, and Aegon's wife, uncle and stepgrandfather.

The company rose and gave obeisance on his arrival, save for Talisa who came over to embrace and kiss him. Her face was rounding with her pregnancy, and her delight at being with child made it appear as if she was glowing from the inside out.

She was so very beautiful.

Aegon did not know if he was _in_ love with her, but he certainly loved her as the mother of his child and his trusted partner.

"Everybody, please be seated, we have much to do," Aegon ordered, taking his position at the top of the table, in between his wife and grandmother.

Everybody sat, looking expectantly at their young king. Aegon cleared his throat and began speaking.

"So, we have the latest numbers of the worst-case scenario tallied up," he announced. "In such circumstances, we have the forces of the Winterlands, our personal host, the Crownlands and the troops sent by the Reach to aid us, fighting against the united forces of the Stormlands, West, Dorne, Vale and Riverlands. That would mean that we would have roughly two-hundred thousand men, versus two-hundred and fifteen thousand men.

However," he quickly went on, as people began to speak. "This is the absolute worst-case scenario, and extremely unlikely, as it would require the aid of those Houses who retained their loyalty to my House from the other kingdoms such as the Stormlands and Riverlands, to all fight against us, with _all_ of their strength. It would also mean that our enemies would have to recruit every man or boy able to lift a sword, and leave their keeps undefended. So the chances of us dealing with such numbers are negligible. That being said, we must have plans put in place for such a possibility, just in case. I want to minimize our losses as much as possible. Just because our men are willing to die for our cause, does not mean that they should have to."

His advisors gave him pleased looks, and pride shone in the eyes of his people.

"Your Grace, if I may," Lord Reed spoke up, the strength of his voice in spite of his small body having ceased astounding Aegon too long ago to remember, even though Talisa still cast him surprised looks on occasion.

"Of course Lord Reed," Aegon agreed. "Your advice is always invaluable to me."

"My thanks, my king," the crannogman replied humbly. "I think, from my sources in King's Landing and my greendreams, that there is a strong chance that Dorne may side with us in this war."

They all stared at him in shock.

"Is the Usurper's Snake dead?" Aegon questioned him after a moment of stunned silence. That Oberyn Martell had died and his eldest son, Aegon's cousin, now stood as Lord Paramount of Dorne with his mother as Regent was the only way that Aegon could conceive of the Dornish (save for the Daynes, who's allegiance had already been pledged) siding with him.

Reed shook his head. "He is not," he denied. "However, I am given to understand that a rift has formed between the Usurper and Martell since he took up the position of Hand. They argue frequently, and it seems that Martell is very fond of your aunt, as he is very protective of his lady wife. The Usurper has evoked Martell's ire on multiple occasions by insulting Magnara Alysanne. In addition, Martell has also been pressing the Usurper to give the Mountain and Amory Lorch over to the Winterlands so they can have justice for your mother and uncle's deaths, as a peace offering. And," he paused and exchanged a heavy look with Rhaella.

"What is it?" Aegon pressed.

"My king," Rhaella stated. "If I may? Lord Reed has informed me of his information already, and we have been debating how best to inform you."

"Go on, I beseech you," Aegon answered.

"It seems, my grandson, that Rhaegar left the Lady Elia with child," Rhaella announced with uncharacteristic bluntness. Everyone save for Lord Reed reacted with shock and surprise, but Rhaella ignored it all, continuing briskly.

"She died of childbed fever, it seems. Her pregnancy was the reason that Rhaegar assigned the Kingsguard to protect her. Her brother arrived at her side just before her death. Long enough to vow he would care for and protect her child where she could not. He claimed the girl, Rhaenys, as his bastard, and changed her name to Nymeria Sand. She has been raised by he and your Aunt Aly in Sunspear ever since."

"So, what is your suggestion then, my lady grandmother?" Aegon inquired, stunned and indignant on his late mother's behalf.

"The fact of the matter is, Your Grace, that the Usurper has well proven what he would do to a child of dragon blood," Rhaella stated, looking solemn. "Lord Martell clearly realizes what would happen to Lady Rhaenys if her heritage were uncovered, otherwise he would never have put the deception in place. And through his marriage to Aly, he is kin to our House, whilst his only bond to the Usurper is a dying friendship. I advise, my king, that you send someone to reach out to Aly, who in turn can give us a more definite idea of her husband's loyalty. Then, we may be able to convince Lord Martell to side with us, or at least keep his kingdom neutral when we attack."

"I had planned to take his head," Aegon muttered. "He was one of those who killed Father."

"Aye, he was," Bonifer was the one to speak this time. "But Rhaegar died honourably in battle. And you are king, Your Grace. You must put your people above your personal feelings."

Aegon sighed and looked at Talisa, who gave his hand a comforting squeeze. Finally he nodded.

"So be it," he agreed grudgingly. "Whom should I send?"

"If I may, Your Grace?" Howland leaned forward. Aegon waved permission at his spymaster.

"I suggest that you send Myranda Flint. She is a cousin to Magnara Aly, and they were close growing up at Winterfell. Lady Myranda was a handmaid to both the late Princess Lyanna and to Magnara Aly. The magnara would trust her, and she is unknown to have come with us when we fled Westeros, and as such she would be able to go around the Usurper's court without suspicion."

"Very well," Aegon consented. "Lady Myranda will be sent to speak with my lady aunt and, should it prove favourable and not a risk to her safety, she will be tasked with negotiating with Lord Martell in order to either gain the support of Dorne, or keep it neutral in the war.

Now, who has any ideas as to how to take control of the Golden Tooth? By doing so, we will not only cut off the West's ability to deliver reinforcements to the Riverlands and Crownlands, but we will have control of the main supply route that they use, so I want its' capture to be a priority for us."

"If I may, Your Grace, I have an idea for that," Ser Redwyne stated, leaning forward.

Although he paid close attention to the meeting, in the back of his mind Aegon was brooding heavily. Could he truly work with one of the men who had murdered his father? The brother of the woman who had shamed his mother so? And what was he going to do about his half-sister? Could he embrace her as his sibling, knowing that she was the symbol of his father's betrayal of Aegon's mother? And did he even want to?

He had many questions, both political and personal, but no answers to any of them.


	20. Oberyn V

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Oberyn V**

_**King's Landing: 10**__**th**__** July 298 AC**_

"I stood last vigil for him myself," Ser Barristan said as they looked down at the body laid on the back of the cart. "He had no one else. Only an elderly mother in the Vale, I am told."

In the pale dawn light, the young Ser Hugh looked more like he was sleeping than dead. He had not been a particularly handsome man, but death had smoothed his rough-hewn features and the Silent Sisters had dressed him in a velvet tunic with a high collar to cover the ruin the lance had made of his throat. With the wound hidden, only the stiffness of his limbs showed his lack of life, especially with his eyes closed by the Sisters.

Oberyn looked at his face, wondering if it was because of him that the boy had died. Slain by a Lannister bannerman before Oberyn could speak to him; could that be a mere coincidence? He supposed that they would never know for sure, but both he and Aly feared that it was not.

"Hugh was Jon Arryn's squire for four years," Selmy went on. "The king knighted him before he rode north, in Jon's memory. The lad wanted it desperately, yet I fear that he was not ready."

Oberyn rubbed a hand over his face, feeling tired beyond his thirty-and-seven years. "Nobody is ever ready," he stated flatly.

"For knighthood?"

"For death," Oberyn corrected him, jaw tight as he studied the boy's body, troubled. He was only a few years older than Oberyn's eldest son.

Gently Oberyn recovered the boy with his cloak, a bloodstained bit of blue bordered in crescent moons. Then he turned to the woman beside the cart, shrouded in grey, face hidden but for her eyes. "Send his armour home to the Vale," he instructed the Silent Sister. "The lad's mother will no doubt wish to have it."

"It is worth a fair piece of silver," Ser Barristan commented. "The boy had it forged special for the tourney. Plain work, but good. I do not know if he had finished paying the smith."

"He paid yesterday, Ser Barristan, and he paid dearly," Oberyn replied. Looking at the Silent Sister he added, "Send the mother the armour. I will deal with this smith." She bowed her head.

Afterwards Ser Barristan walked with Oberyn to the king's pavilion to deal with the latest problem caused by the king.

As he walked, Oberyn glanced around at the different symbols and banners decorating the tents. There were ones from nearly every corner of the Seven Kingdoms: the silver eagle of Seagard, Bryce Caron's field of nightingales, a cluster of grapes for the Redwynes, and dozens more. Obeyrn spotted several of his own bannermen's sigils decorating the place, and made a mental note to either try and make time to see his visiting vassals himself, or else to have Aly do it. It was vital that his House maintained good relations with their bannermen, especially now that the Yronwoods were angered by the lost betrothal. Maybe he could betroth one of the girls to the heir, Cletus, to make up for it. Still, that was a matter to be dealt with later. He had other worries at present.

One of those worries was that there was not a Winterlander sigil to be seen, and it troubled him greatly. They rarely competed in tourneys, even in his youth, but the reports he had been reading worried him. Until he had become Hand, he had not realized just how much relations between the Winterlands and the Iron Throne had deteriorated over the past years. The Winterlands had always been distant from the rest of the kingdoms, on account of the treaty that brought them into the dominion of the Iron Throne, yet now it was as if they were a completely separate region once again. He was wary of prodding his wife about the matter, however. The Winterlands were devoted to their lieges, and as Aly liked to say, the North Remembers. They would not reconcile with the rest of the kingdoms until they received justice for the deaths of their people in the Sack. Yet Robert would not hear of it in spite of Oberyn's best efforts, and Oberyn was at a loss as to how to solve the problem.

Gods, he missed Doran. His brother would have known what to do. But then again, if Doran were still alive, then Oberyn would not be in this position, and so it was a moot point.

"Tell me what brought this ridiculous idea of the king fighting in the melee about," Oberyn instructed the Lord Commander as they made their way to the king's own tent, the largest of them in the centre of the field.

Ser Barristan's look was troubled. "Her Grace, she, well she ordered him not to participate in the fight yesterday afternoon. The king was in his cups at the time. He became aggravated by what he called her interference and he declared that he would do so no matter what she thought."

"Damn it," Oberyn swore. "Does the woman not realize that forbidding Robert to do something is a sure way to get him to do so? They have been married a decade and a half, surely she has realized that by now!"

"They say that night's beauties fade at dawn, and the children of wine are oft disowned in the morning light," Ser Barristan pointed out, though he did not look hopeful.

"They say so," Oberyn agreed, "but not of Robert." Other men might reconsider words spoken in drunken bravado, but Robert Baratheon would remember and, remembering, would never back down. Once, Oberyn had liked that trait, found it amusing. Now, as the Hand attempting to corral the King, he found it frustrating enough to make him long to rip his own hair out. How had Jon managed it for fifteen years?

The king's pavilion was close by the water, and the morning mists off the river had wreathed it in wisps of grey. It was all of golden silk, the largest and grandest structure in the camp. Outside the entrance, Robert's warhammer was displayed beside an immense iron shield blazoned with the crowned stag of House Baratheon.

For once, Oberyn had been hoping that the king was still abed in a wine-caused sleep, but, as per usual it seemed lately, luck was not with him. They found Robert drinking beer from a polished horn and roaring his displeasure at two young squires who were trying to buckle him into his armour. "Your Grace," one was saying, almost in tears, "it's made too small, it won't close." He fumbled, and the gorget he was trying to fit around Robert's thick neck tumbled to the ground.

"Seven hells!" Robert swore. "Do I have to do it myself? Piss on the both of you. Pick it up. Don't just stand there gaping, Lancel, pick it up!" The lad jumped, and the king noticed his company. "Look at these oafs, Oberyn. My wife insisted that I take these two to squire for me, and they're worse than useless. Can't even put a man's armour on him properly. Squires, they say. I say they're swineherds dressed up in silk."

Oberyn only needed a glance to understand the difficulty. "The boys are not at fault," he told the king. "You're too fat for your armour, Robert."

Robert Baratheon took a long swallow of beer, tossed the empty horn onto his sleeping furs, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and said darkly, "Fat? Fat, is it? Is that how you speak to your king?"

"Ah yes," Oberyn drawled. "Forgive me, my king. Allow me to rephrase myself. You're too damn fat for your armour, _Your Grace_."

Robert scowled indignantly, then he abruptly let out a fierce laugh, sudden as a storm. "Ah, damn you, Oberyn, why are you always right?"

Oberyn smirked. "Ah, I have many talents," he winked at his friend as lightly as he could.

The squires smiled nervously until the king turned on them. "You. Yes, both of you. You heard the Hand. The king is too fat for his armour. Go find Ser Arron Santagar, the master-at-arms. Tell him that I need the breastplate stretcher. Now! What are you waiting for?"

The boys tripped over each other in their haste to be quit of the tent. Robert managed to keep a stern face until they were gone. Then he dropped back into a chair, shaking with laughter.

Ser Barristan Selmy chuckled with him, as did Oberyn. As always nowadays, though, the graver thoughts crept in. He could not help taking note of the two squires: handsome boys, fair and well made. One was a bit older than Lia, with long golden curls; the other was perhaps fifteen, sandy-haired, with a wisp of a moustache and the emerald-green eyes of the queen.

They were Lannisters, the both of them.

"Ah, I wish I could be there to see Santagar's face," Robert guffawed. "I hope that he'll have the wit to send them to someone else. We ought to keep them running all day!"

"Those boys," Oberyn asked him, just to confirm it for sure. "Lannisters?"

Robert nodded, wiping tears from his eyes. "Cousins. Sons of Lord Tywin's brother. One of the dead ones. Or perhaps the live one, now that I come to think on it. I don't recall. My wife comes from a very large family, Oberyn."

A very ambitious family, Oberyn thought darkly. A very ambitious family that climbs to power by clambering over the bodies of women and children, purely because they were in the way.

His wife's twin sister had merely been the highest-ranking lady to pay the price of the Lannisters' lust for power with her life. The Tarbecks, the Reyenes, the more famous and first. Many people had died for the Lannisters to rise to power. It deeply disturbed Oberyn how many Westermen were in the capital and the keep, loyal to the Lannisters first and to everyone else, probably even the gods themselves, second. He had done the numbers, and doubted his men's ability to protect all of his family if they were attacked, when they were so outnumbered by the redcloaks, even with the extra men supplied by his goodbrother. It was concerning, to say the least, and Oberyn was seriously debating whether or not to send the children home to the safety of Dorne.

"The talk is that you and the queen had angry words last night," he remarked, putting those thoughts aside for the moment to focus on the most urgent problem, persuading Robert not to be a fool and fight in the melee.

The mirth curdled on Robert's face. "The cursed woman tried to forbid me to fight in the melee. She's sulking in the castle now, damn her. Your sister would never have shamed me like that."

"Not the way the queen did, no," Oberyn agreed. "Elia would never have contradicted her lord husband in public, I agree. But I guarantee that she would have expressed her concerns over you joining the melee in private. Do not be a fool, Robert. You have no place in this melee. You are King, you cannot put your life at risk like this."

"I sit on the damn iron seat when I must," Robert scowled, though Oberyn knew that he had not once attended court since they had arrived back from Sunspear. Oberyn had been the one sitting on the blasted chair, and he had the bruises and torn breeches to prove it. "Does that mean I don't have the same hungers as other men? A bit of wine now and again, a girl squealing in bed, the feel of a horse between my legs? Seven hells, Oberyn, I want to hit someone."

Ser Barristan Selmy spoke up. "Your Grace," he said, "it is not seemly that the king should ride into the melee. It would not be a fair contest. Who would dare strike you?"

Robert seemed honestly taken aback, as if such a thought had never occurred to him. "Why, all of them, damn it. If they can. And the last man left standing . . . "

" . . . will be you," Oberyn finished. He saw at once that Selmy had hit the mark. The dangers of the melee were only a savour to Robert, but this touched on his pride. This was the way to dissuade him. "Ser Barristan is right. There's not a man in the Seven Kingdoms who would dare risk the Crown's displeasure by hurting you."

The king rose to his feet, his face flushed. "Are you telling me those prancing cravens will just let me win the thing?"

"For a certainty," Oberyn confirmed, and Ser Barristan Selmy bowed his head in silent accord. "They would fear for their heads, otherwise. Even if you did not have them punished should they hurt you, who is to say your wife or son would not act differently? Nobody would risk it."

For a moment Robert was so furious that he could not even speak. He strode across the tent, whirled, strode back, his face dark and angry. He snatched up his breastplate from the ground and threw it at Barristan Selmy in a wordless fury. Selmy dodged. "Get out," the king ordered then, coldly. "Get out before I kill you."

Ser Barristan left quickly. Oberyn was about to follow when the king called out again. "Not you, Oberyn."

Oberyn turned back. Robert took up his horn again, filled it with beer from a barrel in the corner, and thrust it at Oberyn. "Drink," he instructed him brusquely.

Oberyn drank, grimacing. The beer was like tar, black and thick. "Gods Robert, do you honestly enjoy this stuff?" he grumbled. "You ought to drink something decent, Your Grace, like Dornish red. What's the point of being King if you cannot have a decent alcohol?"

Robert smirked briefly, then the expression darkened again. "Damn you, Oberyn Martell. You and Jon Arryn, I loved you both. What have you done to me? You were the one should have been king, you or Jon."

Oberyn scoffed at that. "Are you mad?" he inquired with a raised eyebrow. "All of my ruling skills come from Aly's teachings and years of struggling to get a half-decent grip on how to do it. Anyway, I had no claim at all to the Iron Throne. The Martells never wed the Targaryens. Besides, the Tullys only agreed to support us because Hoster's daughter would become a Princess and Lady Paramount by wedding the new king's brother."

"I told you to drink, not to argue," Robert huffed. "You made me king, you could at least have the courtesy to listen when I talk, damn you. Look at me, Oberyn. Look at what kinging has done to me. Gods, too fat for my armour, how did it ever come to this?"

Oberyn softened. "Robert . . . "

"Drink and stay quiet, the king is talking. I swear to you, I was never so alive as when I was winning this throne, or so dead as now that I've won it. And Cersei . . . I have Jon to thank for her. I had no wish to marry after Elia was taken from me, but Jon said the realm needed an heir, that Stannis and Renly weren't enough, I needed a son. Cersei Lannister would be a good match, he told me, she would bind Lord Tywin to me should Viserys Targaryen ever try to win back his father's throne." The king shook his head. "I loved that old man, I swear it, but now I think he was a bigger fool than Moon Boy. Oh, Cersei is lovely to look at, truly, but so very cold . . . the way she guards her cunt, you'd think she had all the gold of Casterly Rock between her legs. Here, give me that beer if you won't drink it." He took the horn, upended it, belched, wiped his mouth. "And Joffrey. My son . . . you love your children, don't you?"

"With all my heart," Oberyn declared fervently. All of them, from tomboy Obara to the child growing in Aly's stomach as he spoke, meant the entire world to them. If burning Westeros to the ground would keep them safe, then Oberyn would strike the match himself.

"Let me tell you a secret, Oberyn," Robert said, grim-faced. "More than once, I have dreamed of giving up the crown. Take ship for the Free Cities with my horse and my hammer, spend my time warring and whoring, that's what I was made for. The sellsword king, how the singers would love me. You know what stops me? The thought of Joffrey on the throne, with Cersei standing behind him whispering in his ear. My son. How could I have made a son like that, Oberyn?"

Oberyn looked away, unable to meet Robert's gaze. He had not seen any evidence of anything other than arrogance in the boy himself, but Aly's contacts had told them some truly appalling stories. How the Crown Prince, at the age of only five namedays, had found a pregnant cat and cut it open to remove the unborn kittens, the cat itself still alive, and then gone to the Great Hall to show it to his father. How he would torment and terrify his younger siblings and the servants, and refused to do any work. He could not count to ten or spell his own name, despite being two-and-ten, and he had ordered his sworn shield, whom he referred to derogatorily as "dog", to beat his tutors, and laughed when one of them, an elderly maester, was beaten so badly that he lost the ability to walk. The Crown Prince walked around with a gilded and ornate gold-hilted sword, yet he had absolutely no martial skills at all, and refused to go to the training grounds, insisting that he was a great warrior who needed no practice and ought to be knighted already. All of his actions, he excused with his status, and worst of all he got away with it.

The prospect of the boy sitting on the Iron Throne disturbed Oberyn much more than he wanted to admit, and he was deeply grateful to Elbert for warning him not to allow the betrothal between Lia and Joffrey. The thought of what would happen to the poor maid wed to the sadistic boy was deeply troubling.

"I don't know," Oberyn admitted honestly. "I see nothing of you in the lad."

Robert nodded sadly. "It was probably best off that you refused the betrothal," he confessed. "You've two lovely girls as daughters. Joff'd break either of them, were he to wed one. Myrcella wedding Rickard was the better option."

Oberyn stayed quiet for a moment, trying to find the words to comfort his old friend. "Your Grace . . . " he began carefully after a moment. When had he begun to fear speaking to Robert, least he evoke an explosion of wrath?

Robert slapped him on the back. "Ah, say that I'm a better king than Aerys and be done with it. You never could lie to me, Oberyn. Nor to anyone else you care for."

Oberyn hide a wince at that. Oh, Robert, he thought tiredly, thinking of Meria and the secret that he had kept for over a decade in regards to her birth. If only you knew. If only you knew, you would take my head, my daughter's, and probably my loyalist wife's too.

That was why nobody could ever know the truth about Meria's mother, not even Aly or Meria herself. He loathed the pain he had caused Aly, he knew she thought he dwelt on some past lover still. But he couldn't tell her. The threat to them all was far too great.

"I'm still young, and now that you're here with me, things will be different," Robert went on. "We'll make this a reign to sing of, and damn the Lannisters to seven hells."

"I have a suggestion for that," Oberyn cut him off quickly. "Making it a memorable reign, that is." Robert looked at him curiously, and Oberyn went on, hoping his idea would work. He'd come up with it a few days past whilst reading some reports, but had yet to have a chance to speak to Robert about it. He could only pray that it would work.

"I've heard of increasing troubles in the Kingswood and the Riverlands with brigands, especially around the border," Oberyn informed Robert, who looked interested for once. He'd loved it when they were young and gotten into skirmishes with the Vale mountain clansmen or bandits. "And of course, the Stepstones are always a problem. Here is my suggestion. Peace does not suit you, we all know it. I cannot do anything to give you a war, nor am I in favour of it, but what I think you ought to do in get back into shape. Spend time in the training yard, drink a bit less and bring back the legendary Demon of the Trident. Then, once you can fit into your armour again, go brigand hunting, sail to the Stepstones and bring them to heel. What do you think?"

Robert had gained a thoughtful expression as Oberyn spoke, and now he grinned, slapping Oberyn's back. The Lord of Sunspear suppressed a sigh of relief at the positive reaction he had received.

"I think it's a brilliant idea!" Robert declared, looking revived at the thought of future battles. "I'll start on the morrow, head to the yard after breaking my fast. Right now, however, I smell bacon. Tell me your opinion, Oberyn, who do you think our champion will be today? Have you seen Mace Tyrell's boy? The Knight of Flowers, they call him. He was Renly's squire. Now _there's_ a son any man would be proud to own to. Last tourney, he dumped the Kingslayer on his golden rump, you ought to have seen the look on Cersei's face. I laughed till my sides hurt. Renly says he has this sister, a maid of fourteen, lovely as a dawn . . . "

They broke their fast on black bread and boiled goose eggs and fish fried up with onions and bacon, at a trestle table by the river's edge. The king's melancholy had melted away after hearing Oberyn's suggestion, and before long Robert was eating an orange and waxing fondly on about a morning at the Eyrie when they had been boys. " . . . had given Jon a barrel of oranges, remember? Only the things had gone rotten, so I flung mine across the table and hit Dacks right in the nose. You remember, Redfort's pock-faced squire? He tossed one back at me, and then you threw your whole plate back and before Jon could so much as fart, there were oranges flying across the High Hall in every direction." He laughed uproariously, and Oberyn joined in willingly, remembering those days of innocent mischief with affectionate wistfulness.

_This_ was the boy he had grown up with, he thought; this was the Robert Baratheon he'd known and loved. If he could prove that the Lannisters had murdered Jon, this man would listen. Then Cersei would fall, and her family with her, and at last his deceased goodsiblings and their children would all be avenged and there'd be peace with the Winterlands. He'd be able to go home, friendship with Robert intact and his friend's reign secure. He could see it all so clearly.

He was in an excellent mood as they broke their fast together and joked about old times, for once not arguing about anything at all.

**ASoVASoVASoV**

Much later, after a rather tumultuous end to the tourney due to the Mountain going berserk, Oberyn at last trudged back to the Tower of the Hand, once again in a glum mood after the stress of dealing with the Clegane brothers' fight. Although Ser Loras had given his victory to Sandor Clegane after the Hound had saved his life, he had still crowned a Queen of Love and Beauty, in the form of his cousin, Desmera Redwyne. Though it was not scandalous like his sister's crowning, the event had brought back memories of Harrenhal, which in turn had caused him to think over some things he had learned whilst going through various documents in his office.

The questions it had brought up could, conveniently, be answered by the woman waiting his return in their chambers, and he intended to get those answers.

Aly was lying in bed, going through Malleon's book again, when he arrived. She cast him a tired smile as he entered the bedchamber.

"My love, open the window will you?" his wife requested, voice weary. "'Tis much too stuffy in here."

"Of course," he consented, as he unfastened the heavy shutters to let in the cool night air. The hour was well past midnight. Down by the river, the revels were only now beginning to dwindle and die.

"I just do not understand it," he murmured, tapping the page, again open to House Lannister, as he joined Aly beneath the covers and wrapped an arm around her slim shoulders. She never seemed to gain any weight save on her stomach when with child, and that always disappeared quickly after the babe was born. "What was Jon looking for? I cannot figure it out."

"Me neither," Aly murmured. "What about Robert's bastards frighten Cersei so that she would kill a pair of twin babes?" Her expression was pained, and Oberyn wondered if her thoughts lingered on her sister's babes, or else their own child, lost to them for no reason save an inexperienced new serving maid who had failed to properly dry the stairs after washing them, causing Aly to slip and go into labour three moons early.

"It makes no sense," Oberyn agreed. "The law does not give rights to natural children, save for in the Winterlands. Even if Robert acknowledged or legitimized them all, they would be behind even Princess Myrcella in terms of inheritance."

Aly hummed and sighed, snapping the book closed and setting it aside. "Something is weighing on you, my love," she murmured, cupping his cheek. "Tell me. I am your wife, share your burdens with me."

He gazed into her eyes, the colour of storm clouds at the moment, and asked her, "What was the purpose of the Harrenhal tourney?"

Aly stiffened, expression darkening. "Why does it matter?" she asked. "You must know already, else you'd not be asking. Besides, it's been seventeen years since the tourney."

"It matters," Oberyn insisted. "I cannot say why, but I must know, Aly."

She sighed, looking away for several long beats before replying at last. "Really it starts before that, if you want to properly understand why we did it," she began. "Lya and I came to court when we were ten. Mother had died about a year before that during a Shivers epidemic, and seeing as Lya was already betrothed to Rhaegar by then, it was decided that we should go and become ladies for the queen, in order to learn of what court was like. Prince Viserys was born about a year later. The King was paranoid with everything and everyone. He went as far as having his tester drink from the wet nurse to make sure she wasn't smearing poison on her nipples after the Queen's milk dried up. Not even Queen Rhaella was allowed to be alone with the babe. But where the other children didn't live longer than a few months, Viserys was strong and healthy, the first one to live to his first year since Rhaegar. And the King was sure he finally had another son who would grow up to be a strong prince. Queen Rhaella despaired: Aerys was convinced that it was his oath of fidelity that ensured Viserys' health, so of course he wouldn't leave her alone. She had women placed in front of him, but he stayed loyal. He was not brutal to her at the time, though. he was harsh, and had no tolerance for criticism, but it was controllable. He was still somewhat reasonable, or at least distractable. And then Duskendale happened."

She paused inhaling and exhaling heavily with a pained expression. "Gods only know what happened to him there, but the council and Rhaegar covered up how bad it was. We did not expect him to survive, preparations were begun for Rhaegar to ascend the throne, but Aerys pulled through. And he learned of the preparations for Rhaegar to be crowned and that planted the idea in his already-insane and paranoid mind that Duskendale had been a conspiracy against him." She sighed again, looking worn beyond her years and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"He had never been a kind husband to the queen," she murmured. "But after that he turned outright cruel and sadistic. Several times he beat her so badly she broke her bones, and she was left with physical scars."

Oberyn shuddered in disgust at the thought, feeling a surge of pity for the exiled queen. No lady deserved that, and Rhaella's kind nature was well known.

"That was just one example of how things were deteriorating," Aly continued. "He had Ilyn Payne's tongue removed for a jape, and there was outright war between he and Rhaegar.

A few moons before Harrenhal, he burned a person for the first time," she stated, eyes dark. "It was awful. I can still smell it. We all had to watch, and I remember that Barbrey was actually sick, and the whole time Aerys was just laughing and clapping, like a child with a new toy. The man was a commoner who had killed another man, and was due for execution, but he escalated quickly from criminals to anybody he could get his hands on.

We did our best to save as many innocents as we could as Aerys did not care whom he burned, so long as it happened. Queen Rhaella would sacrifice herself by distracting the king whilst we replaced the person set for burning with criminals from the Black Cells, but it didn't always work. After that, Rhaegar knew that he could not allow his father to remain in power any longer. He needed to be removed, sooner rather than later. So, we began conspiring to do so.

My family paid for the tourney. The Whents certainly could not afford it, and if Rhaegar were to take so much money out from the treasury it would be suspicious. There was a representative of almost every House in Westeros there. The intent was to call a sort of Great Council, and gain support for Rhaegar to become his father's Regent. Honestly, the attendants wouldn't have had any other real option but to support his coup. Aerys would have killed anybody who was at the meeting, even if they were unaware beforehand and came straight to him afterward. But then-"

"Then he met Elia, and all the smiles died," Oberyn muttered, recalling the ballad he had once heard, detailing the events of the Rebellion.

Aly shook her head. "Then Aerys decided to leave the Red Keep for the first time in years," she corrected him. "And we were unable to hold the Council with him in attendance. I have always suspected that Varys was behind it, that he found out what we were planning and informed the king. The damn Spider was forever whispering in Aerys' ear, stoking his paranoia to increasing heights. But what first drew our group's attention to yours was the alliance. It was very alarming."

Oberyn blinked in confusion at that. "What do you mean?" he asked, bewildered. Aly shot him an incredulous look, before sighing and shaking her head with a smile that was a mixture of exasperated and amused on her lips. It did not reach her dark eyes, and she took a long sip of her wine before she answered at last.

"You are hopeless at politics, my love," she sighed. "Thank the Gods I grew up at court, else we'd be in trouble. Now, think about it, Husband. After centuries of enmity between your two peoples, didn't you ever wonder why your brother promised Elia away to the Lord of Storm's End? Why your uncle fostered you along with the heir of Storm's End under the guardianship of the Lord of the Eyrie? The man whose nephew was betrothed to a daughter of Lord Tully, who was attempting to wed his other daughter to the heir to the West?"

Obeyrn stared at her, stunned. "You think my brother and Jon were plotting against the Targaryens?" he stated, stunned. He shook his head in denial. "No, impossible," he insisted. "Doran and Jon were much to honourable to do such a thing."

She gave him a dry look as she replied. "Rumblings of rebellion had been in the works for years, Oberyn," she reiterated. "I cannot say if their goal was truly to toppel the Targaryens from the Iron Throne. Maybe not, given that Lord Steffon was the one to send Robert to foster with the Vale, and he himself was the son of Princess Rhaelle, and your uncle and lady mother were both companions to Aerys and Rhaella when they were young. But they definitely were positioning themselves to be able to force the Targaryens to submit to them. For all I know, they intended to split the kingdoms back into seven different ones again. I just don't know.

Rhaegar did it all wrong in trying to stop the plot that we saw rising against his House. Gods only knows what was going through his head, though I know him well enough to know that he would not have done it if he'd realized the consequences of his actions.

But the fact is that it was only ever a matter of time until the Rebellion began. Perhaps when each of those marriages had taken place, perhaps even it would have waited until an heir had been born already, and_ then _the alliance would make its' move. But charming as Robert was in his youth, and shrewd as Lord Arryn was, that alliance you all used to make defeat the Targaryens wasn't pulled together in a few moons, Oberyn. The battle lines had already been drawn and everything was triggered when Rhaegar and Elia ran away and Aerys did what he did to your brother and his family. It was the spark that set off the wildfire."

Disturbed by her revelations, Oberyn left the bed to pace, hands clasped behind his back. "I just cannot believe it," he said after a moment. "Jon always did his best to live up to his House words, he was an honourable man. And Doran never once gave me any of hint that he held any grudges against House Targaryen. I guarantee that Robert did not know any of this either. Why would they do such?"

Aly began to speak, but was interrupted by a soft rap on his door. "Milord, forgive me for disturbing you so late but a letter has just arrived from the Vale bearing the seal of House Arryn," Ser Garin called. "It is marked as urgent."

"Elbert must have spoken to the guards at last," Oberyn sighed in relief as he strode to the door and opened it to accept the envelope. Hopefully there would be answers to the questions he had sent his friend within.

But when he read the words on the parchment, he felt any temporary relief disappear. The page fluttered to the ground, dropped by his suddenly-nerveless fingers. The news felt like a blow to the sternum, knocking the wind out of him.

"Oberyn?" Aly asked, voice alarmed. "My love, what is it? What has happened?" She reached out to cup the sides of his jaw and turn his head towards her, and he realized that he had sunk onto the bed without noticing his actions. Expression bleak, he forced himself to look at his wife.

"Elbert fell through the Moon Door whilst in his cups," he announced dully. "He is dead."


	21. Alysanne V

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**Okay, so I have the second interlude and part of chapter 21 finished. After those are posted (probably tomorrow) I'll go back to working on my other two stories as well. **

**Read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Twenty**

**Alysanne V**

_**The Red Keep: 20**__**th**__** July, 298 AC**_

Their men had finally managed to locate the brothel that Jon Arryn and Stannis Baratheon had visited together. Aly had not been particularly surprised to discover that a young girl there had born yet another of Robert's bastards, this one an infant girl named Barra.

The poor prostitute was but five-and-ten, and had foolishly fallen in love with the king by the sounds of it. Probably he was the first in a long time to give her any degree of kindness, even if it was purely for the sake of her giving him good satisfaction. And now the poor girl was left with a child in arms, like so many of the Usurper's lovers.

The whole thing seemed to be centred around his natural children.

It just didn't make sense to Aly as to why the late Lord of the Vale and the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands was looking into the king's bastards when he had three healthy trueborn children, two of which were boys. Granted, Aly was firmly of the opinion that something had to be done about Joffrey. Such a sadistic and blatantly mad child could not be allowed to ascend the Iron Throne. It would send them right back to the days of the Mad King, when literally just breathing too loudly was grounds for being arrested and burned alive on accusations of treason.

Yet Prince Tommen and (according to the letters she was receiving from Sunspear) Princess Myrcella were both sweet, intelligent children, if a bit shy in a way that made Aly certain that Cersei had lavished attention on her firstborn and neglected her younger two. And the Usurper Queen was yet young enough to provide more children. The king clearly had no difficulties at all siring children. Even if Joffrey were removed from the line of succession, there was no real need to legitimize Robert's bastards, or pour resources into finding them all. Especially when there was an acknowledged son already under Renly's guardianship in Dragonstone.

And then there was the fact that Elbert Arryn too had died so mysteriously. She found the death incredibly suspicious, to say the least. The man had grown up in the Eyrie, how could he have carelessly fallen out of the Moon Door, even whilst drunk? It was far more likely that he too had been murdered.

But had the killing been committed by the Lannisters or by someone else, over an entirely different matter? It was very curious, in Aly's opinion, that two healthy Lord Paramounts of the Vale had died within a year of each other, even if Jon Arryn had been verging on eighty. And though Jon Arryn had definitely been investigating something, it struck Aly that Elbert's widow had benefited the most out of the two men's deaths, as Lysa Arryn was now Lady Regent of the Vale, and would be for at least the next decade.

Though, from the letters Oberyn was getting, it was possible that was not as certain as it seemed. Most, if not all, of the Vale lords were firmly in favour of the young Ser Artys becoming the new lord, and they were pushing for him at the least being named as Lord Protector and the boy being fostered away from his mother. That was a request that Oberyn was likely to grant, given the reports they had been receiving from the Vale. What kind of madwoman nursed a six-year-old? Everyone said that the boy was of a fragile health, and personally Aly blamed the mother for not raising him properly. Honestly, a six-year-old sucking on his mother's teat. She couldn't believe it. Madness, that's what it was. _She_ weaned her babes after they began to teethe, switching them to cow's milk for the sake of her breasts and their growth.

She continued to brood over the whole thing as she walked through the gardens with Arrana and Daemon at her heels, Arron clutching her hand in his own. She wished that Crystal was there also, she always felt far safer with her direwolf trotting at her heels, but it would not be wise to aggravate the king's already-precarious mood by having her wolf in view. Since word had arrived of Elbert Arryn's death, both the king and Hand had been in foul moods. Whilst they had not been as close to Elbert, who was nearly four years their senior, as they were to each other, they had still grown up together. Oberyn was very grieved by his death, coming on top of everything else they were dealing with and struggling to handle the wealth of problems plaguing the realm. It pained her to see his tiredness and stressed sorrow.

"And then I-, Mama, Mama are you listening to me?" Arron interrupted his tale to frown up at her with the dark brown eyes inherited from his father. She smiled back down at him, using her free hands to brush his dark curls out of his face. He was the image of Oberyn, not a drop of Stark to be seen. All of her children favoured their father's side in colouring. She pitied the women of the realm when Dorren decided to take an interest in girls over books, and when her younger boys finally realized that, no, women were not in fact another species. Given Rickard's attitude, Aly half-wondered if she was a grandmother already. Gods help them all if the rest of the boys followed in their elder brother, father and late uncle's footsteps in regards to ladies.

"Of course I am, my darling," she assured her youngest son. "You shot a bullseye! I am so very proud, and entirely unsurprised by your skill."

Arron beamed delightedly at that, as they began to walk again.

"Do you know, my love, whom you remind me of?" Aly questioned softly, unable to help herself.

"No, who?" Arron inquired, shaking his head.

"My younger brother, Benjen," Aly stated with a sad smile. "He was not the best with a sword, though he was still very good. But his true talents lay in archery and hunting. He wanted to become a Ranger of the Night's Watch."

"Why didn't he?" Arron asked innocently.

Aly exhaled and tried to suppress the tears that pricked at her eyes. Under normal circumstances, she would not be so discomposed, nor would she had brought up the topic of her younger brother. But she was with child and stuck in the living hellhole that was King's Landing, and the longer they remained the more distressed she felt, haunted as she was by memories.

"He died, sweetling," she explained, her voice strained. "When he was the twins' age."

"Oh," Arron said solemnly. He paused, tugging her to a stop. Aly also stopped walking and bent down slightly to near his height. Her youngest son promptly flung his arms around her neck and buried his head in her shoulder, patting her back in a child's attempt at comfort.

"Do not be upset, Mama," Arron cooed to her as she hugged him back tightly. "I will join the Night's Watch instead. I can be Uncle Benjen for you!"

Aly let out a watery laugh to hide her alarm at his sweet natured suggestion, pressing a kiss to his forehead. She prayed he never fulfilled that promise. She had the greatest of respect for those brave men of the Watch, but that didn't mean she wanted any of her boys to join it and live such a harsh and dangerous life. "Oh, how I love you, my darling desert wolf-cub," she whispered into his ear, before straightening up again so they could continue with their stroll.

Arron was just beginning to tell a new story when they came across a group made up of the queen, Prince Tommen, the queen's ladies and Ser Jaime.

Aly gave a cool nod and curtsied to the lioness and her son with great reluctance. She noticed, not for the first time, that the queen and her son were mirror images of one another. Like all of Cersei's children, Tommen was pure Lannister, with golden hair and emerald eyes. Though he was very different in temperament, waving cheerfully at Arron, who greeted him happily. The pair had become great friends with one another.

As she greeted the young prince kindly, Aly could not help but be smug to know that she had produced four strapping boys, all of them closely resembling their father's House typical traits, and three beautiful daughters who also favoured the Martell looks, where Cersei had failed. It was, after all, generally expected that a woman produce children who favoured their paternal family, as if women had some in built ability to affect a child in their womb.

However, whilst all of Aly's children were very clearly Martells, one would be forgiven for assuming that Robert had not contributed anything at all to his trueborn children's make-up. It was actually rather strange how little they favoured him, in either looks or temperament. Especially given that Aly knew that all of his natural children had his dark hair and blue eyes. Even the infant girl Barra had been described as having her father's colouring, the reason that Daemon had so easily recognized her as the king's child. Yet none of his trueborn children even had the same cheekbones as their father.

When that thought crossed her mind, Aly suddenly felt the missing piece of the puzzle finally fall into place. _"The seed is strong"_ had been Jon Arryn's last words to his foster son and king. It took everything in her not to react to her realization. She felt almost sick with amazed triumph and terror at the consequences of what she had just realized.

"Your Grace," she greeted the queen after the prince with the appropriate courtesies and required look of suppressed contempt at the woman that she always did. Nobody looking at her would be able to realize any of the thoughts that were running frantically through her mind, connections at last tying together after moons of attempts to make them fit.

"Lady Martell," Cersei sneered back, whilst Ser Jaime simply nodded curtly. Aly's anger towards him had thawed after his revelation, but she maintained the façade for the sake of appearances. The queen said nothing else, nor did she allow her son to do so either, instead grabbing Tommen's arm and striding away from Aly and her own son, much to the Lady Paramount's relief.

"Arron, sweetling," she said as calmly as she could once they were gone. "Mama has a bit of the headache, and I must lie down. We shall return to the Tower now, love."

Arron pouted, but her children knew when to push and when not to, and he conceded with any complaints. Aly tried not to appear rushed as she hurried her son back to their rooms, but she feared that something might have shown in her manner.

Once they arrived, she quickly sent Arron off to his chamber to play under the watchful eyes of a guard, and pulled Arrana into her bedchamber, under the guise of having a lie down.

"_How many men did my brother send to protect my family whilst we are here?"_ Aly asked urgently, in a low voice and using Old Tongue to make doubly certain she would not be understood by unfriendly ears. _"They still here and prepared to leave at a moment's notice?"_

The group of Winterlanders had arrived posing as merchants from the Vale selling their wares for the tourney and had contacted her discreetly by slipping her message via the orphanage matrons to explain their presence. They had promised to remain so long as she did, altering their disguise as necessary. Arrana and the three other Winterlander servants who had come with them to the capital were acting as go-betweens, aided by the fact that Arrana was the first cousin to Lord Skystark, and nobody in Robert's court paid attention to servants.

Aly had informed Oberyn of the escape route as soon as she learned of it. Only a few moons past, he would have dismissed her and Ned as being paranoid due to Lya and Ben's deaths. By the time she had revealed the plan to him, he had enough experience with the capital for his anxiety to be alleviated by it. Frankly, it was a great relief to Aly that her husband at last understood just what type of place the capital was.

"_Aye, my magnara," _Arrana confirmed in the same low tone and language._"Magnar Eddard sent a hundred men to protect and aid you and your family, including your husband. They are under my cousin Lord Skystark's command and disguised as merchants. They remain in the city, ready to flee or fight at your order."_

"_Take them a message for me right away. They are to prepare to flee the city with my children tonight," _Aly instructed her old friend. A thought occurred to her and she quickly added,_"As well as at least three others, a young mother with her infant daughter and a boy of about four-and-ten. I have figured out what Lord Arryn was investigating, and I will not allow my children to be used as hostages. Or worse."_

"_And you, my magnara?" _Arrana replied, looking worried._"Lord Martell?"_

"_Oberyn will not leave before this is finished,"_Aly answered steadily, even as her hand came to rest on her swollen belly. _"__And as his wife, my place is with him. He is mine, and I am his, until the end of our days. But you and Myriame will go with the children, and see them to safety in Winterfell."_

Arrana nodded solemnly, though Aly could tell she was reluctant to accept the order._"Winterfell, milady? Not Sunspear?"_

"_Sunspear has been breached a thousand times in a thousand ways during a thousand wars,"_Aly explained._"But no enemy has ever gotten past Moat Cailin, Winterfell has stood untouched since Brandon the Builder raised it. And most importantly, I know that Ned and our people will protect my children from the lions for me."_

Arrana bowed her head in acceptance._"If the Lannisters wish to lay a finger on any of them, they shall have to get through every sword in the North,"_she assured Aly._ "Stark blood runs through their veins, and we will never fail the Wolves of Winterfell."_

"_I know," _Aly answered simply._"That is why I am sending them home."_

Arrana nodded, a knowing look in her eye.

**ASoVASoVASoV**

Aly could not bring herself to settle as she waited impatiently for Oberyn to return from his work. She did not dare to send for him, paranoid that somebody would be tipped off. But she couldn't prepare the children to leave either. They would have to leave everything, clothes, toys, _everything_ behind. Baggage would hamper them and draw attention. The only thing she did do, other than send Arrana to alert Lord Skystark, was send Daemon to find and secure Gendry the blacksmith's apprentice and the young prostitute and her daughter. Unfortunately, whilst Aly expected that there were more of Robert's bastards scattered through the city, she did not know who or where they were. She could only pray that the gods would be merciful, and Cersei was as unaware as Aly. The whore had already proved that she was willing to murder infants with her own hands to protect her secret, Aly was desperate to prevent it happening a second time.

In order to keep from going mad waiting to tell Oberyn what she had discovered, she went to her bedchamber and dragged out Malleon's book so that she could find more evidence to support her suspicions. Up until then, they had been focusing on the Lannister section, but this time Aly skipped right to the Baratheon page.

She took out a piece of parchment and a quill, and starting scribbling down everything that could be used to prove her theory. There was no way to _physically_ prove it, of course. No way to, say, compare the children's blood to that of their alleged father's and see if Robert had truly sired them. But if enough evidence could be shown to cast sufficient doubt on the trio being his children, then combined with Robert's hatred for his wife things would go in their favour.

She worked almost feverishly, more thoughts popping up as she scribbled.

Cersei would die for what she had done, and House Lannister would be utterly _ruined_ by the whole scandal. Tywin and the Mountain and Lorch would all escape with their lives, but they would pay eventually and the woman who had stolen Lya's crown would finally die. It would not be for the right crime, but so long as she paid, Aly did not care what crime she went down for.

She was so caught up in her thoughts and writing that she failed to notice her husband's return until he rested a hand on her shoulder to draw her attention after she failed to reply to two calls of her name.

She jolted and cried out in panicked surprise, grabbing the dagger she had laid beside her. Crystal instantly tensed, growling and searching for a threat.

"Aly, calm down woman!" Oberyn barked in startlement, raising his hands in the air and jumping back from the panicked woman holding a sharp blade to his throat and the large direwolf with her long fangs bared.

Aly gasped and lowered the dagger, hand trembling slightly. "Crystal, _peace_," she ordered her companion. "Forgive me, my lord husband. I am, I am on edge."

"I can see that," he answered dryly, dropping his hands and turning concerned at her out of character actions. "Aly, what in the Gods' names is wrong with you? Is it the babe?"

"I figured it out," Aly explained, slumping back into her seat and putting the dagger on the desktop, within reach. "What Lord Arryn and Lord Stannis were investigating, I know what it is."

Oberyn's eyes widened and he strode over to her, kneeling before his wife and grasping her hands. "Well, Wife?" he pressed eagerly. "Do not leave me in suspense, tell me!"

Aly swallowed and responded in Rhoynish. _**"I do not believe that the Princes and Princess Myrcella are the king's children,"**_she declared. Oberyn's face paled and his mouth began to open as if to object to her claim. She hastened to explain before he could cut her off.

"_**I cannot say if the affair is still on-going, but I would not be surprised if it were so,"**_she stated._**"But it is obvious, I cannot believe that we failed to realize it before this. Let me explain my reasons for this belief before speaking, I beseech you."**_

She was relieved when he nodded, grabbing her notes and taking a deep breath as she paused to organize her thoughts so she would not sound like a madwoman when she explained.

"_**The royal children, they have absolutely no resemblance to King Robert, not even in character,"**_she began. _**"They are their mother's mirrors. And yes, I am aware that 'tis not uncommon to favour one parent over the other, but all three of them? When his bastards all favour their sire? Thinking back to when you and His Grace were Joffrey's age, can you think of **__**any**__** similarities at all between him and the queen's children, even in their personalities?"**_

Oberyn pursed his lips and seemed to consider it before at last shaking his head with great reluctance, expression grimmer than she had seen in a long time, which said a great deal as to the severity of the accusation. She felt the same way. Much as she longed for vengeance, this was a very dangerous situation. There was a very real chance that a war might be ignited over this whole thing, depending on how it was handled and everyone reacted.

Aly did not want a war. She had lost everything in the last war. What would she lose in this one?

Despite her worries, Aly simply nodded in response to his denial, continuing. _**"Yet, as I said, all of his natural children are black and blue eyed. And I have heard descriptions of Lord Stannis' children. Not one of them has even a red tint to their hair, they all have dark hair and blue eyes. His brothers too are all the same as the king, features wise. And I was looking through the book by Malleon. All the way back to the children of Argella Durrandon and Orys Baratheon, the children of a Baratheon have the same blue eyes and black hair, whether the Baratheon is their mother or father. And look, read this."**_

She handed him some of her notes, pointing to the bit she wanted him to read. Oberyn, looking more than a little stunned by everything she had thrown at him, read the section of the page that she had pointed out to him, swearing softly under his breath as he scanned it.

_Gowen Baratheon, third son of Lord Beric Baratheon, the reigning Lord Paramount of the Stormlands in 207 AC. Wed Lady Tya Lannister. One son named Orryn, died in infancy. Black haired, blue eyes._

_Jason Lannister, cousin of Lord Tymond Lannister, the reigning Lord Paramount of the Westerlands in 177 AC. Wed Lady Alynne Baratheon. Three daughters: Jocelyn, Ellyn and Elenda, one son: Tymond. All described as black-haired and blue eyed._

"_**That was the last time a Lannister and a Baratheon wed up until the king and queen," **_Aly informed him grimly. _**"But you see? And Cersei has the opportunity to carry out adultery.**_

_**One of the first things that Queen Rhaella told my sister about being a princess and especially a queen was to **__**never**__** allow herself to be unchaperoned with a man save for Rhaegar, even one of our brothers. Adultery in a lady is illegal, as they risk passing off a bastard as an heir, but adultery in a queen is treason. The conduct of a queen must always be unquestionable. Queen Rhaella told Lyanna to choose a few ladies, ones known to be deeply pious. They ought to be a mix of Lya's supporters and her opponents, and to have excellent reputations. Women whose word that Lya was faithful would be unquestionable, women whom one would be sure would never dare lie if asked to swear an oath.**_

_**My people in the castle say that the queen frequently has time alone, and all of her ladies are Westerwomen, most of them cousins of hers in some way. Her brother is her typical guard. If not Ser Jaime, then it is either Ser Preston or Ser Mandon, who are both Westermen and in her pocket. It seems to me that all of those people would be willing to lie for her.**_

_**And from what we can figure out, it appears that Lord Stannis and Lord Arryn began their investigation shortly after the birth of Lord Stannis' youngest child, after a visit to Dragonstone, where Edric Waters is. I bet he noticed the differences between his children, Edric, and the queen's children, and grew suspicious. If he suspected but was unsure, going to the Hand would be the natural and logical action."**_

She fell silent, handing over the rest of her notes to let him look them over stone-faced. As soon as he was finished reading, he jumped to his feet and started storming around in a circle for several minutes, cursing violently and hitting the wall with a clenched fist. Crystal bristled, but relaxed as Aly stroked her ears soothingly.

"We must tell Robert," Oberyn said finally, after his temper had cooled.

Aly exhaled deeply and tried to gather her thoughts. "The king is away on a hunt," she reminded him. "And before we do anything else, we must ensure that the Lannisters cannot use our children as hostages when we move against them."

Oberyn's expression darkened. She knew that he was probably thinking, like her, of tiny bodies with smashed in heads and threads of hair clinging to broken little skulls.

It would_ not _be her children who suffered such a fate. Lyanna had not been able to save her children from the cursed Lannisters, but Aly would not repeat her much-lamented sister's failures. Not with her babes.


	22. Oberyn VI

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**In response to a guest review on : Firstly, about the cadet-branch names: it's canon that most cadet branches have their origin House's name attached to their new one. I'm just following that. Besides, the Northrons are generally practical, simple people. They're not going to fuss about spending ages coming up with something brand new just for the sake of standing out.**

**Second of all: in regards to the Arryn stuff. Who said that Jon was poisoned by Lysa and Baelish in this? He wasn't. In this, it really was the Lannisters who did it. men loyal to Littlefinger killed Elbert because Petyr wants to be powerful, and he knew that he could manipulate Lysa. **

**No the Vale lords have not yet outright revolted (though that doesn't mean they aren't suspicious/plotting). I hope that, save that, you like the story.**

**Now that's done: on with the chapter:**

**Read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**Oberyn VI**

_**King's Landing: 20**__**th**__** July, 298 AC**_

They used one of the secret passageways that Crystal had sniffed out in order to smuggle the children from the Red Keep to the docks. Aly's paranoia (or justified caution as she stubbornly called it and she was likely right, given everything that had occurred) had once again proved a great boon for them when she had ordered their most trusted men to map out the passages her direwolf had discovered. One, very conveniently for them, led right down to an alleyway beside the harbour where the Northron ship waited for them.

"Mother, Father what is happening?" Mariah asked plaintively, her voice trembling.

The children were doing their best to maintain their composure, but the tight grips they kept on the knives that Oberyn had given to each of them and their frightened eyes gave their fear away. His daughters had been raised to be ladies, to be safe and protected by their guards. Dorren had always been more interested in his books than fighting, and Oberyn had indulged it, because it brought to mind many fond evenings of listening to his elder brother tell stories to he and Elia. As a child, only Doran's tales and soft-spoken manner had been able to calm Oberyn's excited temperament. But as a consequence of his laxity in training his children in self-defence, none of his children were prepared to be dragged out of bed and hustled out of a passageway they hadn't known even existed.

Arron was clutching at his mother's hands, trying and failing to suppress his tears. The twins held hands tightly, and Lewyn was sniffling. Sarella was clutching the edge of her cloak tightly, while Meria and Lia held their knives as if the weapons were their sole anchors to life itself.

Despite his almost crippling guilt over them being so frightened, he was proud of them all for holding up as well as they were. Arron was but six, Lewyn still two turns of the moon away from seeing nine namedays. None of his girls had ever been raised for anything like this, though the influence of Aly's Northron 'women must be able to care for themselves' attitude had made them far more capable of defending themselves than most Southron ladies. Still, it surprised him a bit that Mariah, his dreamy little girl with her love of songs, was the first one to question why they had been woken in the middle of the night and hastened from the castle, not even allowed to change into more appropriate attire. The girls were in their night shifts still, the boys were in their sleeping tunics with cloaks over them to protect them from the cool air. He would have expected Lia to be the one to question them first.

Then again, Lia knew the most of what had happened to Aly's family, so perhaps she had guessed at least _whom_ they were fleeing, if not _why_.

"You are going on a trip, my love," Aly replied to Mariah, her voice as steady as ever, though he knew her well enough to detect the thread of fear in her tone. Fear for their children, of course. She had wanted to leave them behind at Sunspear and he, oblivious to just how deeply the lions had dug their claws into the capital and the throne, had ignored her. He cursed himself for that. "To visit your uncle and his family at Winterfell in the North. It shall be great fun for all of you, and my brother will be delighted to meet his nieces and nephews. Do not be disappointed if he appears aloof. Ned is not an open person."

Oberyn recalled the two occasions he had met Eddard Stark. The first time, the man had appeared calm and cold, right up until his goodbrother had crowned Elia as Queen of Love and Beauty. For a brief moment, the man had looked infuriated by the insult to his royal sister. The second time, it had been when Oberyn had come to Winterfell in order as to deliver the bones of the fallen Starks and take Aly as his wife. Oberyn had always been grateful that he had been under guest right when he revealed the betrothal that Robert had ordered, otherwise the man would probably have killed him.

But Oberyn knew enough of the Magnar of the Winterlands to trust that he would faithfully protect his sister's children, regardless of their father. He had originally thought they ought to have the children sent to Sunspear, but Aly had a valid point when she said that the Winterlands had never been invaded by outsiders, unlike his own kingdom. And the Starks' bannermen were fanatically devoted to their lieges, including Aly and her own children due to growing alongside each other. He trusted his own men, but he knew that they were not so loyal to the Martells as the Winterlanders were to the Starks. The Lannisters could potentially get their men into Sunspear to kidnap or assassinate the children, or else bribe someone to do so for them.

The children would be safer in the North.

He feared greatly for Rickard and little Lorie, and earlier that eve he had tasked Daemon with going back south to Sunspear. His former squire had a letter from Oberyn to his eldest son, revealing what they knew and giving Rickard instructions on what he should do in the event of things going badly, or successfully. After all, there was no doubt that Tywin Lannister would not take his daughter's disgrace well, especially as he and Aly had come to a conclusion as to whom the queen's lover was whilst going over and organizing their evidence for him to present to the king. After all, Tywin's ruthlessness was well-known to everyone.

Aly kept the children distracted as they made their way down the tunnel, while Oberyn brooded over what to do about Cersei's children.

He could not forget what had happened to Aly's nieces and nephew during the Sack, the way that Robert had spat on the tiny bodies. Joffrey was a madboy, surely the Gods' punishment for the sins committed by Cersei and the other Lannisters, but Myrcella and Tommen were innocents. Robert's fury would be terrible to behold when he learned of what his wife had done. He had always loathed being humiliated.

Oberyn had to figure out what to do to protect the children from the king's wrath. Myrcella, at least, was tucked safely away in Sunspear. But what to do about Joffrey and Tommen? The eldest of Cersei's sons was mad, that was obvious. Perhaps the Wall was the best solution. That still left Tommen. Oberyn needed to have a plan in place for what to do about each child before he spoke to Robert, so that he could give the ideas to the king and persuade him not to harm any of the children who called him 'Father'.

But before that, Oberyn needed to protect his _own_ children from the Lannisters' anger.

At last, they exited the passage into a dirty alleyway, the smell making the children all wrinkle their noses in disgust.

Two of the guards escorting them walked ahead, checking for enemies, followed by Aly with their younger children. Meria and Sarella went in the middle, still holding onto their daggers tightly, whilst Lia stayed at Oberyn's side. Two more guards followed, guarding their backs. To his relief, they made it to the waiting boat without incident.

A group of his guards were there along with Robert's bastard son Gendry, who looked sullen and confused and was clutching a sack to his chest, and a frightened young woman holding a squirming child. The whore from Chataya's and her infant daughter Barra, Oberyn assumed. It was a relief to see them all unharmed, even if he logically knew that Cersei had no way to know what he and Aly had realized. Cersei had murdered children with her bare hands to try and keep her secret from getting out. She would no doubt do so again without batting an eyelid in remorse.

He was sure that there were more of Robert's bastards scattered around the place, and he knew that Edric Storm and Mya Stone were in Dragonstone and the Vale respectively, but there was little he could do for them. He didn't know whom or even how many there were, and the others were out of his reach. He could only hope that it was the same for the Lannisters as well.

"Magnara," one of the Winterlanders, an aged man who still stood straight despite being around Jon Arryn's age, stepped forward and bowed to Aly. She smiled at him though it failed to reach her eyes. "We are glad to see you again."

"And I you, Lord Skystark," she replied. They moved closer to one another and began speaking softly in the Old Tongue, Arron still clinging to his mother's hand and Lewyn and Mariah hovering near to her, all of them pouting in distress. Oberyn assumed that Aly was instructing the sailor on what she wanted him to do, and giving him the letter for her brother with their knowledge and evidence.

Meanwhile, Lia had sought his attention. Her face was pale, her eyes wide and worried in the moonlight. "Papa, is this because of the Lannisters?" she whispered to him, her eyes watery. "Are they going to kill us, like they did Mama's family?"

He swallowed, pained by her words. The use of the childish 'Papa' and 'Mama' instead of 'Father' and 'Mother' signalled to him just how frightened she was.

He squeezed her hand softly and leaned down to quickly kiss her forehead. "This is merely a precaution, my little Kelpie," he promised her. "I promise. Everything will be fine. And you have always wanted to see your mother's homeland and meet her family. This trip will be great fun for all of you."

Her bottom lip trembled and her eyes glimmered in the dark light, breaking his heart.

"Milord, milady," Davos Seaworth, a minor (and relatively new) Northron lord, interrupted them apologetically. "Forgive me, but we need to board quickly."

"I don' ge' wha's goin' on!" Gendry suddenly blurted out. "Why should I go with yese? I dunno yese! Any o' yese! 'm no' goin' anywhere!"

The young whore abruptly burst into tears, which then caused her own babe to start crying, in turn resulting in Arron sobbing and Lewyn starting to hiccup.

"Don't send us away, Father, Mother," Lewyn pled. "We'll be good, I promise. I-"

"Mama!" Arron howled, flinging himself into Aly's embrace. "I want to stay with you! Don't send us away, I want to stay with you!"

"Please do not make us leave, come with us!" Mariah begged, grabbing Oberyn's arm and looking up at him imploringly. He cradled her close, trying to calm her down as Aly did the same with the boys.

"Hush, hush, there's a brave boy," Aly frantically tried to soothe the distraught pair. "Boys, I am sorry but you must go. Please do not make this harder than it must be. We are not sending you away because you have been bold. Please my darlings," she sounded on the verge of tears herself, and Oberyn intervened, forcing himself to be stern in spite of his family's distress.

"Children, you are scions of House Martell," he reminded them sternly. "We are Unbowed, Unbent and Unbroken. You must behave like it. You will go home to Sunspear with us after this, but for now you must go and stay with your mother's family in Winterfell. And you have to leave _now_."

Still distraught but reluctantly giving into his unyielding tone, the boys and Mariah pulled away from he and Aly and began miserably saying their goodbyes. Gendry and the young whore (no, the young _mother_. She was a mother first now. He could see her love for her child in the way she held the babe close to her breast, trying to shield the girl. The poor girl was only Sarella's age. At least in the Winterlands she would probably get a better life. The Starks were beloved of their people for many reasons, chief among them that they cared and provided for them all, quality or common.) had somehow been coaxed onto the ship by Lord Seaworth, and most of the sailors were already aboard, preparing to leave.

He kissed his children goodbye one-by-one, instructing the boys to look after their sisters and giving the same instructions to the girls. He came to Meria last.

She flung herself into his arms with a hiccupping sob, the first embrace she had condescended to give him since he had refused Perros' request to wed her. He hushed her and rocked her as if she were a young girl who had come to him in tears after skinning her knees again.

"Shush, my brave little snakelet," he soothed her. "All will be well. Help Sarella look after your siblings. You two are the eldest two, that is your responsibility. Be brave, and our family will soon be reunited."

"Be careful Father," she whispered. "Promise me."

He suppressed a flinch, reminded of her mother's last words, and nodded silently. "We will be," he vowed. "I promise." He hesitated and then added. "Once all of this is over, I will contact the Blackmonts. I think that I was perhaps overly-hasty in refusing Perros' proposal."

She briefly lit up with delight, but turned solemn again quickly. "Just be _careful_, Papa," she insisted. "You and Mother. I would not know what any of us would do without you."

"All will be well," he promised, before releasing her. One of Seaworth's sons escorted her up the gangplank, and the board was pulled up and away from the docks with that. He and Aly stood watching from within the circle of guards.

"You should go with them," he said softly, though they had already fought over this and he had lost the battle entirely. She shook her head.

"I am your wife," she replied simply. "My place is at your side."

He sighed, knowing that, even if it would be far safer for her and the babe that she carried, he was too selfish to send her away. "Did you give them the letter for your brother?"

"Aye," she confirmed. "Even if we are silenced, Ned and Rickard will both know, and Stannis must at least strongly suspect the truth. The lions will not be able to hide this."

"Hopefully we are being paranoid," Oberyn murmured. "I sent Ser Garibald to track Robert down and give him the note that I wrote. He will return immediately on reading it."

Oberyn had not dared to commit to paper the accusations he had against the queen, both out of fear of it being intercepted and of Robert's reaction without Oberyn there to calm his rage. Instead, he had written that he had discovered evidence of Jon being murdered. The king would come racing back on reading that, he knew. Jon had been a father to both of them. Robert would be enraged at the thought that he had murdered instead of having a natural death, eager to learn whom would be punished for the crime.

For all he and Robert had changed over the years, Oberyn still considered him his dearest friend. It made him flinch to know that he would have to give news of his wife's betrayals to his oldest friend.

"The Gods are on our side," Aly insisted softly, squeezing his hand firmly. "I _know_ that they are. The lions will not get away with what they have done."

Of course, Aly was probably thinking more of her own family than Robert. She quite possibly believed he deserved the hurt after his insults towards her kin. Oberyn did not ask. It would only worsen his already dark mood.

"I hope that you are right, my love," he replied softly instead.

**ASoVASoVASoV**

_**The Red Keep: 21**__**st**__** July, 298 AC**_

The next morning, Oberyn was doing his best to act normal. He was in the middle of holding court when the door to the Great Hall slammed open and the King came storming in, his face crumpled in rage.

"What is this, Oberyn?" he bellowed, shaking the note in the air as he strode up towards where Oberyn was seated on the uncomfortable Iron Throne. "What is this about Jon-?"

"Not here, Your Grace," Oberyn cut him off hastily as he rose from the throne, spying Aly slipping away from the corner of his eye as he did so. He had no doubt she had gone to fetch their proof. Aly had been waiting for an opportunity such as this for over a decade and a half. Now her chance was at last within sight and she was bursting with anxiety and glee. "We must speak in private about this."

Robert looked angry and impatient, but barked angrily that court was dismissed and followed Oberyn to the small antechamber behind dais of the throne.

"Well?" he demanded, eyes blazing with fury. "Tell me, damn you! What do you mean, you have evidence Jon was murdered? Who did it? How long have you suspected this? Why did you not tell me earlier? I-"

"Hush, Robert, let me explain please," Oberyn held up his hands, trying to calm his enraged friend. He had already decided that acting as if they were simply friends, not King and Hand, was the best way to go for the moment. Robert would respond better to it, hopefully.

Jaw tight, Robert gestured sharply for him to go on.

"I will show you the evidence I have now in a moment," Oberyn stated. "My lady wife is bringing it from our chambers now. I have suspected it since the night you arrived at Sunspear. Elbert came to me in the dead of night, revealing that Jon had been investigating something and died suddenly right after telling him he had almost enough evidence to bring the matter before you. I did not tell you because of whom it was we suspected of the act."

"What do you mean?" Robert's voice was dark, suspicion dawning in his eyes. Perhaps he had always suspected, somewhere deep within him. Robert Baratheon was many things, and he was not a good ruler. But nobody, not even Aly or her Stark kin, had ever called him a fool.

"Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen are not your children, Robert," Oberyn revealed quietly, laying the whole thing bare before his king. "They are the queen's bastards. Jon learned of it, and she had him killed to try and cover it up."

All things considered, Oberyn was not surprised nor did he blame the king for his enraged reaction. He lifted up an entire sidetable and flung it at the wall, ink pots, documents and all. It crashed loudly against the wall, making Oberyn wince slightly.

"I'LL KILL THAT WHORING BITCH AND HER SPAWN!" Robert roared.

Oberyn wondered what it said, that Robert believed him without a second's hesitation. Yes, there was the chance that he had suspected in the back of his mind. But perhaps it said something about the king and queen's relationship that Robert so quickly believed she would be unfaithful. They were vicious to one another. No wonder both had turned to others to gain comfort.

Oberyn moved forward quickly, placing a hand carefully on Robert's shoulder. "Calm yourself, my old friend," he begged him. "I have come up with plans for what to do about everyone involved in this treason. But you _cannot_ kill the children."

"I am the king and-"

"And you will be called another Mad King, a tyrant, if you murder three children, children you believed to be your own until moment's past," Oberyn interrupted him, going right for the jugular and making the king freeze. He hastily continued, before Robert could grow angry at him instead.

"I have come up with plans for what to do with everyone, Cersei and her lover and the children," he said soothingly, not giving Robert time to respond. He did not mention Aly's aid in coming up with those ideas. She was right in saying that Robert would probably refuse to listen to the suggestions if he did, solely because of her connection to the Targaryens. It was the same reason that he would be concealing just how much of the investigation had been conducted by her, guilty as he felt taking credit for his wife's actions. People could claim that she was framing the queen as revenge for Lyanna.

"Well?" Robert grunted, eyes still ablaze with anger. "What are those plans then?"

"Obviously, Cersei must be punished for her treason, and her lover as well," Oberyn stated calmly. "That is justice. But you will be seen only as a tyrant should you harm the children. Myrcella is in Dorne already. Of course, the betrothal can no longer stand. A bastard born of treasonous adultery cannot be Lady of Dorne. But Aly and I can raise her and Tommen as our wards in Sunspear. That will ensure that Tywin cannot move against you, as he will no doubt be furious at all of this, and try to salvage his children's reputation. As for Joffrey, it is now clear why he is so mad. A punishment from the Gods to Cersei for her breaking her wifely vows to you. Discreetly send him to the Wall, and nobody can say that you have not been most merciful."

He held his breath, watching Robert glower out the window, fists clenched. Abruptly, the king ripped away from him and stalked to the door, yanking it open to reveal Ser Barristan and Aly, who swiftly fell into obeisance.

"Arrest that adulterous bitch I call my wife for treason!" he ordered his Lord Commander. "And arrest any who tries to defend her as well! Confine her bastard sons to their chambers until I grant leave for them to be let out! You!" He turned to Aly, jabbing a finger at the bundle of papers she held to her chest. "Give me that!"

"Of course, Your Grace," she murmured meekly, holding the folder out like an offering.

He grabbed it off her and waited impatiently for Ser Barristan to bow and murmur his agreement, the old knight looking stunned by the order, then slammed the door shut again.

"Robert," Oberyn said hesitantly, stepping closer to his childhood friend.

"Is there anything else?" Robert growled.

"No, save for the details of it all," Oberyn replied softly. "But all of it is written down in there."

"Then leave me," Robert ordered curtly. "I wish to look through this evidence that you have gathered."

Oberyn hesitated, resulting in a chair being hurled at him that he only just dodged.

"LEAVE!" His king bellowed.

"Your Grace," Oberyn muttered with a bow. He paused at the door, glancing back at his old friend. "I wish I did not have to tell you this, Robert," he apologized solemnly. "So much."

Robert was busy downing wine straight from a jug, and did not answer.

**ASoVASoVASoV**

Aly awaited him outside, eyes sparkling with excitement and a rosy flush lighting her cheeks. "Come and let's watch," she pleaded.

He sighed and nodded, taking her arm and guiding her along the hallways.

Knowing the royals' routines well after their time in the capital, they arrived at the area in the gardens where the queen was taking tea with her sons shortly before Ser Barristan did with a group of guards (none of whom, Oberyn noted, were Westermen, nor had any known allegiance to the Lannisters. Sensible of the man.). They stayed out of sight, able to see the confrontation take place without been seen themselves.

The queen scowled at the sight of the Lord Commander, rising to her feet. "Ser Barristan," she greeted him coolly. "I was under the impression that you were away guarding His Grace on his hunt."

The Kingsguard looked solemn. "The King is returned, my queen," he replied. "He has dispatched me to take you into custody, along with your sons."

Cersei's face paled, then reddened in fury. Joffrey jumped to his feet in fury, and Tommen looked frightened. Ser Jaime, who had been guarding the queen and princes, grabbed his sword.

"How dare you?" Cersei spat, fists clenched. "I am the queen!"

"And I am the Crown Prince!" Joffrey added, equally as indignant. "You cannot make me do anything!"

"Spoiled brat," Aly whispered to him. Oberyn hummed in acknowledgement of her words, but didn't remove his gaze from the scene. A part of him felt guilty. Cersei was a woman after all, and her children innocent in spite of Joffrey's sadism. Perhaps he should have given them the chance to flee.

But then again, Cersei might have been a woman, but she was a woman who had personally drowned two innocent babes, only a few moons old. She had gained her throne by stepping over the bodies of Aly's sister and her children. And she would not have fled. He and Aly had recently come to the conclusion that she was probably plotting Robert's death, in order to have her son as king and be Regent. It would explain why she had publicly ordered her lord husband not to fight in the melee. After so many years as his wife, she had to know that he would have done exactly the opposite of what she ordered. It had been a murder attempt, disturbing as it was to contemplate. Oberyn had added that suspicion to the documents as well.

So, if he had confronted Cersei and given her time to flee, she would not have used it to save herself and her sons. At least not by running. More likely, Robert would have been poisoned by his Lannister squire, and then Oberyn and Aly would have been the ones who were arrested for treason.

He reached down to lay a hand over Aly's swollen belly, the feel of his unborn child squirming within its' mother's womb reminding him of what was at stake. He had made the correct decision, the _only_ decision.

His family came first. Always.

As Oberyn brooded, he continued to watch the argument. Ser Barristan overruled the queen and prince's objections. When Jaime attacked him, the White Lion was defeated by his superior. Cersei and the boys were grabbed by the other guards, (Tommen was held much more gently than his struggling brother. The poor, timid boy was struggling not to cry, and Oberyn spotted Aly looking guilty as she watched the child.) and they were all taken back to the keep.

The first part was over, and nobody had been harmed. That was something at least, but how was the Old Lion going to react when he learned that his queenly daughter and favourite son were accused of treasonous incest?

Almost as if his own thoughts were mocking him, the lyrics of the Rains of Castamere ran through Oberyn's mind.

_And who are you, the proud lord said,_  
_That I must bow so low?_  
_Only a cat of a different coat,_  
_That's all the truth I know._  
_In a coat of gold or a coat of red,_  
_A lion still has claws,_  
_And mine are long and sharp, my lord,_  
_As long and sharp as yours._


	23. Cersei I

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**I'm thinking that I might take down the three interludes and put them in a separate side story. I wrote and posted them because they were in my head, but they're kinda irrelevant to the plot and don't fit well. What do you guys think?**

**Thanks to all of my wonderful reviewers! Read, enjoy and review! Personally, I hate Cersei. But I actually felt kind of bad for her a few times while I was writing this.**

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**Cersei I**

_**The Red Keep: July 22**__**nd**__** 298 AC**_

Cersei could not believe that all of this was genuinely happening. How dare they? She was Cersei Lannister, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms! The daughter and rightful heir of Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, the only one his children truly worthy of taking over his legacy, the only one who had actually paid attention to his lessons on politics and the importance of maintaining their family's power and legacy! Who did these pathetic fools think they were, accusing _her_ of all people of treason? Her thrice-cursed husband spent half his time whoring and the other half drinking himself to death, yet when she had done something similar, they dared to lock her up for it! It was utterly enraging, and she spent the first several hours of her confinement throwing a fit, tossing items around her bedchamber and swearing she would have revenge for her humiliation.

The joke would be on them in the end, she knew it would be so. Her father was the pillar keeping this realm aloft, and he would not stand for her to be humiliated so. He would intervene, and show her whoremonger of a husband just how sharp the claws of a lion were. The lion did not concern itself with the opinions of sheep. Her name would be cleared (along with Jaime's, obviously) and then the Martells and Robert would pay for embarrassing her this way. As would the guards who had dared to lay their filthy hands on her. She would have them cut off, and the men then sent to the Wall to rot in the cold, surrounded by tree worshipping barbarians.

She_ was _worried for her sons though. Robert was a brute, who only knew how to communicate with his cock or his fists, and she'd suffered the bruises to prove it was so. She did not mourn the deaths of the infants Aegon and Daenerys Targaryen, had celebrated news of their deaths in fact. Yet the thought of them haunted her as she worried over what her husband might to do to her children in the midst of his rage. Nobody would give her any news. She had been told the charges against her and locked in her bedchamber, alone. They had not even sent in a servant to clean up the mess she'd made during her fit of temper. She had no idea where her boys or Jaime were, nor could she understand why her family's men had failed to intervene on her behalf during the arrest of herself and Jaime.

She prayed that her father learned what had happened quickly. He would come and sort this out. He would make Robert pay for insulting her House in such a manner. She clung to that mantra to keep from letting her fear sneak up from where she had shoved it to the back of her mind.

She was pacing her bedchamber the day after her arrest when Lord Martell arrived with a young Dornishman in the colours of House Martell trotting obediently at his lord's heels. The Hand's dark eyes were shadowed and troubled as he studied her.

She glowered at him. Robert thought his Hand was loyal to him first, but the king was a blind fool. It was obvious to anybody with working eyes that Martell's loyalist wife had him wrapped around her finger. And Cersei saw the Stark lady's hand behind many of the Lord Hand's actions. Martell had no head for politics, but Alysanne Stark had been raised at the centre of Aerys' court, and knew how to play the Game. Cersei hated the woman fiercely, but she was able to acknowledge her skill, if grudgingly and only within the confines of her mind. She had also managed to achieve what Cersei had not by making her husband love her, and that fact rankled. If it came to a choice between Robert or his wife and children that she had borne him, Martell would not hesitate to choose his family. Cersei was certain of it.

"What do you want?" she sneered at him.

He sighed heavily. "I am here, Your Grace, to question you and inform you of the charges against you," he told her softly. "Are you ready?"

Cersei lifted her chin defiantly and waved him on as she sashayed over to a chair and sat down as regally as if she were holding court. She refused to let any emotions save cool disinterest touch her face as she watched the Hand of the King unroll a scroll and read her charges out. "You are charged with adultery, incest, line theft, multiple counts of murder and conspiracy to murder the previous Hand of the King and the former Lord Paramount of the Vale and Warden of the East, Lord Jon of House Arryn. Furthermore, you are charged with suspicion of plotting to murder His Grace the King. Of these charges, three are counted as treason. How do you plead, Your Grace?"

"Not guilty, of course," Cersei replied. "These charges are ludicrous. I am the queen, and as such am above the law. I cannot be charged with anything."

"That is incorrect, my queen," he corrected her. "Ser Brynden, the Master of Laws, checked that exact caveat in accordance to your status. It is only the _reigning_ monarch who is considered above the law. The consort, in this case yourself, is perfectly capable of being charged with crimes."

Cersei felt a hint of worry at that, but forced herself not to show it. "Very well, but I still persist in proclaiming my innocence," she stated.

"Very well, it shall be as you say. Claiming your innocence is your right," he responded, as he rolled the parchment back up again and tucked it away before gesturing to the scribe beside him. "This is Ser Garris Wells," he said to her, as if she should care about the name of a lowly guardsman who was obviously of no import in his own house if she had not heard of him before. "He will be transcribing your interrogation."

She nodded curtly, staying quiet and curling her fingers into her palms as she tried to keep a lid on her temper. Interrogation! Her! The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the daughter of the greatest Lord alive being treated as if she were no more than a common criminal! It was despicable, and she was determined that everybody involved in her humiliation would pay for it.

The questioning was short, him trying to get her to admit to her actions and her refusing to do so. Eventually, he sighed and rose. "This questioning is at an end," he stated. "Is there anything you wish to know before I depart?"

"My sons, my brother, are they well?" Cersei could not stop herself from blurting out the question, fearing for Jaime and her boys. Joff, her golden boy and her sweet, chubby little Tommen. How afraid and confused they must be! How appalled to hear such slander against their loving mother! And what of her brother? Her twin and other half. What had happened to him?

She loathed the pity in his gaze as he replied.

"Your sons have, like you, been placed under house arrest. They are unharmed. As for your brother, Ser Jaime is currently being held in the Black Cells, where Chief Undergaoler Rennifer Longwaters has been assigned to interrogate him."

Cersei felt her heart stop in fear for a moment before she continued, relieved that she had successfully hidden the shake in her voice at the news of Jaime's fate.

Torture, they were torturing her brother. How_ dare _they? Who did these arrogant upstarts think they were, to lay their filthy hands on a Lion of Casterly Rock? Her father would make them pay for everything that they had done. She clung to that like a prayer. Tywin would not let this slight pass him by.

"And what of my trial?" she inquired. "When will it be held?"

"Two turns of the moon hence," Martell answered.

"Why so long?"

"Witnesses are being sent for from all corners of the kingdoms," the Lord of Dorne explained. "It will require time for the ravens to reach them and for them to travel to the capital. And, as I am sure that you are wondering, yes, your father has been sent for also. The ravens were sent forth yesterday afternoon. Pycelle has also been arrested on suspicion of aiding in the murder of Lord Jon Arryn. Another letter was sent to the Citadel have a new GrandMaester sent."

He studied her for a long moment. "I remember Robert as he was the day he took the throne, every inch a king," he said quietly. "A thousand other women would have loved him with all their hearts, with or without the crown marriage to him would bring. What did he do to make you hate him so? To make you turn to your own brother for such things?"

Cersei felt her jaw clench, recalling her wedding night. The stink of wine and Robert's weight atop her as he rutted within her, uncaring of her pleasure, only his own. It was so different from being with Jaime. With her brother, it was all about her pleasure, and she felt whole. They were two parts of the same person, her the thinker and Jaime the doer. Everything was right in her world when she and her twin were joined together.

"The night of our wedding feast, the first time we shared a bed, he called me by your sister's name," she answered, hearing the cold fury in her voice. "He was on top of me, in me, stinking of wine, and he whispered _Elia_."

He gave her a pitying look at that, and she felt her anger surge.

"How dare you?" she spat, jumping to her feet. "How dare you stand there, acting as if you are so noble and honourable, you who has three bastards from three different women? Why do you refuse to name the mother of your youngest bastard, I wonder? Ashamed of her conception? Was she the child of some peasant woman you raped as her town burned from your forces sacking it during the rebellion? Whatever has been said about the loyalists since they lost, not one of them ever ransacked a town or harmed innocents during the rebellion. Unlike the rebels."

He rose, expression going hard at her words. "I have never forced any woman," he stated stonily. "_Ever_. I am no rapist."

She laughed scornfully at that. "Oh, is that so?"

He nodded once, sharply. She smirked.

"And what of your wife then?" she asked him mockingly. "It's said that she tried to scratch your eyes out after seeing her siblings' bodies, that she spat that she'd prefer to jump off a cliff than be your wife. Is it true that she only gave in to save her surviving brother and his wife being executed for treason along with her, and their child taken to be a ward of the Crown? Did she really wear mourning clothes to your wedding, and say to your face that she prayed the gods would make her a widow within the year? Yet in spite of that, your son was born almost nine moons to the day that you wed the lady. And yet you claim that all of your bed partners were willing and not coerced?"

She saw from his eyes that her words had hit their mark.

He clenched his jaw and clenched his fists, apparently trying to suppress the urge to strike her. "If you wish to send a letter, be aware that they will be read beforehand," he said curtly. Before she could retort he left without another word, Ser Garris or Garin or whatever the man's name was at his heels.

In spite of his reaction to her accusations, she still could not decide if it had been her or him who had won that round.

**ASoVASoVASoV**

_**The Red Keep: 14**__**th**__** September, 299 AC**_

In the end, it only took a moon and a half for the witnesses to all gather in the capital for her trial. Cersei had spent her imprisonment alone, her only contact with the outside world a serving girl who served her meals and brought water for her to bathe, but refused to speak with her at all.

Cersei refused to acknowledge it, but she was starting to feel nervous about her trial, as time passed and she received not even a letter from her father to assure her that he was taking care of everything and these ingrates would not get away with their slights against House Lannister.

On the morning of her trial, the Queen was washed and given a plain black dress to wear. There was nobody to do her hair for her, and so she was forced to leave it hanging loose down her back. She stubbornly placed a circlet made of gold with a roaring lion with glinting ruby eyes on her temples. She was still the queen after all, and she would remain so until her death.

At long last, she had received word from her lord father, but it was little of help. A note ordering her to be silent during the trial no matter how provoked she was, and to wait for Tywin to intercede and handle things.

Ser Arys was the one who escorted her to the Great Hall where her trial would take place. As she walked to the Great Hall, she noticed that the keep was bereft of any signs of the redcloaks her father had sent to guard the castle (and her). When she arrived, Robert was sitting on the Iron Throne for once. Oddly enough, he appeared to have lost a bit of weight over the past two moons, as if he had been exercising more and eating less. Hard to imagine, but that was what his appearance suggested, with muscles starting to replace his excess weight. Sitting at the judges' table on the temporary dais that had been set up before the throne was Lord Martell, Ser Brynden Tully the new Master of Laws and Lord Mathis Rowan, though why he of all people was one of her judges Cersei did not understand.

Either way, it was worrying for her. She had no allies amongst the judges, nobody who would be willing to side with her against their king.

The hall was filled with people who sneered contemptuously at her as she passed them by or, in the case of the few Northrons and 'former' loyalists attending the trial, wore looks of triumph as she walked down the aisle to the defendant's box. Her family, her father, uncle, aunt, that thrice-dratted Imp and some of her cousins, all sat together wearing wore blank looks, though Aunt Genna had worry in her eyes as she looked at Cersei.

Cersei would not admit, even to herself, that she was disconcerted by the utter hatred the majority of the audience aimed at her, be they on the side of the loyalists or rebels during the war.

'_Lion do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep,' _she told herself as she held herself with the utmost confidence. It was still uncomfortable. she knew she was disliked, people were naturally jealous of her status, looks and intelligence. But she had ever been given such blatant displays of loathing from so many people before this. There was no sympathy for her from anyone outside of her family it seemed. Even some of her family's vassals looked smug at her situation.

"Whore!" somebody cried as she passed them by, spitting at her. They were not the only one, and Cersei's face was flushed with fury as she finally arrived at the accused's box where she was unceremoniously shackled to the wood. It only made her anger worse, and she clenched her hands so tightly she drew blood from her palms. She wanted to snarl at them, to show them her lion's claws, but her father's note held her back from doing so.

The herald stepped forward. "We are here today to witness the trial of Cersei Baratheon of House Lannister!" he declared loudly, leaving out her title, much to her indignation. "She stands accused of treason, adulterous incest, the murder of the late Hand of the King and Warden of the East, Lord Jon Arryn and several others, and conspiracy to murder His Grace King Robert. She is further accused of passing off her incest-born bastards as the children of the king, thus committing line theft and leaving our most noble king without legitimate heirs of his body! The accused has been questioned privately by the Hand of the King, and she has pled innocent of the charges!"

Cersei, who had been scoffing discreetly at the description of her husband, stiffened at the yells from the audience. It was obvious that the majority were very much against her, and she felt herself shift uncomfortably. This trial was clearly biased against her, and her lord father had not done anything to intervene yet.

Why was he not intervening for her? For Jaime? Why did he not speak up against the insults being dealt out to their House? Why had he told her to be silent, and when would he finally intercede on her behalf?

"Due to the conflict of interest," Robert said in an angry tone, rising to his feet. His eyes burned with fury and loathing as he looked at her. "I am sequestering myself from this trial. Lord Oberyn of House Nymeros Martell, Hand of the King, will act as Chief Judge in my stead. Ser Brynden Tully, the Master of Laws and Lord Mathis Rowan, the Master of Coin, will also sit in judgement over the whore." Lord Martell shot him a sharp look and he grudgingly corrected himself, scowling bitterly. "The Queen, that is."

He shot a quick, warning look at the Lord Hand, then stormed out with Ser Barristan at his heels, a stormy look on his ruddy face. The High Septon then stepped forward and said a prayer to the Father to grant wisdom and justice to those involved in the trial before the Lord Hand stood, looking tired.

The man was most definitely not suited to life in the capital. Of course, Robert had only ever thought of himself, never of those he claimed to care for. So long as he did not have to deal with the problems of running a realm, he cared not a jot for the effects the stress had on his so-called dearest friend.

"We will now begin presenting the Crown's witnesses," Martell announced. "Anybody who interrupts the trial will be escorted from the premises. First of all, Lord Stannis Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and the former Master of Ships, is called to testify."

The Lord of Storm's End had a sullen expression as he took the stand and swore on the Seven-Pointed Star to tell the truth as he knew it and only the truth.

"Lord Baratheon," Martell began once the oath had been made. "Please explain to the court what caused you to flee the capital for your family seat."

"It was Lord Jon Arryn's death that made me go," Lord Stannis responded emotionlessly. "I knew that the queen and her people must have realized what we were doing and poisoned him, and so I decided to leave before they came after myself and my family next."

Cersei clenched her fists beneath the ledge of her box, cursing him mentally. If only she had been able to have both he and Arryn killed at the same time, but that would have been too suspicious, and Arryn had been the greater threat. Robert was never likely to listen to his 'dull' younger brother, but he _would_ listen to Arryn and Martell. They were the only people that he ever took seriously at all. She had not expected Baratheon to flee out of her reach so quickly, though perhaps she should have.

"Why would the queen do such things?" Martell pressed for elaboration. "What were you and the late Hand doing that would make the queen seek to kill you?"

Lord Stannis exhaled before answering him. "It began shortly after the birth of my youngest child," he stated. "My wife brought our children to court for Minisa to be presented to Their Graces, and during that visit it occurred to me how little the so-called princes and princesses resembled their apparent father, in both looks and character. Once I became suspicious, I then also noticed that the queen had many opportunities to be alone or she was only with her most loyal relatives and attendants, during which time she could hypothetically have conducted an affair. I went to the Lord Hand with my suspicions, and we then began to look into them. Unfortunately, before we had enough evidence to go before the king, Lord Arryn fell mysteriously ill and died. When I looked his symptoms up in a book the next day, they matched those of the poison, the Tears of Lys. That confirmed my fears, and I quickly took my family and fled home for safety."

He was questioned more on the details of his investigation and what they had discovered, speaking of several bastard children of the king who had the same features as those of the trueborn Baratheons. It made Cersei growl quietly in frustration.

The coal-coloured hair and stormy-blue eyes_ always_ won out over the features of the other family, whether they were the green eyes and blonde hair of the Lannisters, the red hair of the Tullys, or any other Great House. Her husband's grandmother, Princess Rhaelle, had borne one son: her long deceased goodfather Steffon Baratheon who had been blue eyed and black of hair. Gowen Baratheon and Tya Lannister's only child had been black-haired and blue-eyed also. Orys Baratheon's children with Argella Durrandon had all inherited the dark hair and blue eyes of their mother. The Baratheon features always won out, no matter what. If not for that one little detail, Cersei's secret would never have been discovered.

A maester, not Pycelle but rather Colemon, the maester who had often attended the late Lord Hand. He spoke of how Lord Arryn had been as healthy as a man of his age could be until his sudden death, and agreed with Lord Stannis' claims that the man's symptoms matched those of the Tears of Lys. Cersei cursed him too, then, and Pycelle as well.

Hadn't she ordered the GrandMaester to ensure that the poison could not be known as such? She had ordered him to make sure it was a natural-appearing death, one that would not draw _any_ suspicions at all! Damn that doddering old fool! Colemon also showed evidence testifying to the strength of the Baratheon traits using a family tree and a book on the lineages of the Great Houses written by some former GrandMaester.

"You see, my lords," the Valeman stated, pointing at the page on House Baratheon. "Whether they wed into other Stormlander houses, or to other Great Houses, the traits of House Baratheon _always _prove themselves stronger than those of the other parent. Not one child has differed in hair or eye colour since the House was founded by Lord Orys Baratheon, almost three hundred years ago now."

After Coleman's testimony there came the parade of her husband's bastards.

Mya Stone, his eldest child who was from the Vale. Cersei recalled that Robert had once spoken of bringing the girl to court, but he had not brought it up again after she had warned him that the capital was a dangerous place for a girl. The queen would have happily had the girl killed if she was within reach, and her husband had realized that. The bastard was a tall young girl with black hair and big blue, doe-shaped eyes. Then there was a girl Cersei had not previously heard of, by the name of Bella Rivers who was from the Stoney Sept, with her black locks twisted into corkscrew curls and blue eyes with thick eyelashes surrounding them. Robert's acknowledged son with some Florent woman who had been Cersei's lady-in-waiting up until she had become with child, Edric Waters. He was a handsome lad with black hair and blue eyes. The Lord Hand himself stood and spoke of two other bastards he had seen, a blacksmith's apprentice of about four-and-ten who was 'like looking back in time at the Demon of the Trident', and a baby girl not past her first nameday with a tuft of black hair and big blue eyes. Both had apparently left the capital recently and could not be found, but Martell vowed before the Seven that they looked exactly as he had described. Portraits of Cersei's own three children (her sons were not attending the trial, and she had received no word of Myrcella since her daughter's most recent letter had arrived, a few days before Cersei's arrest) were then produced for the court to examine. Each painting showed a child of blonde hair and emerald eyes, not a trace of the Baratheon bloodline to be seen in them.

But the prosecution had saved the best for last.

A young woman was brought to the stand. She was clearly a servant, and vaguely familiar to Cersei. She was sickly thin, and had a trembling lower lip, and she kept glancing uncertainly at someone in the audience for encouragement during the questioning.

"Please tell the court your name, miss," Lord Martell instructed her gently.

She swallowed, twisting her hands into her wool skirt as she replied. "M' name's Hanna, milord Hand. I ain't gotta fam'ly one."

"Thank you Hanna," he answered. "Can you please tell the court your story?"

She swallowed, then looked at Cersei. The queen was taken aback by the raw loathing in her eyes. It was as if she were a disgusting bug. The lioness was indignant that a serving girl would dare to look at her, the_ Queen_, in such a manner. Who did she think she was? She was nothing but an insignificant servant, on earth purely to serve her betters, yet she dared to look at her queen as if _Cersei _was the one to be contemptuous of!

"I've worked a' tha castle 's a laundress fer years, milords an' ladies," the servant began. "An' abou' two years past, tha king, uhm. Well. 'e took notice o' me, and I 'ad a pair o' twin boys offa 'im."

Cersei felt her heart stop, finally realizing where the story was going.

The voice of serving girl, Hanna was it? trembled as she explained what had happened, how Cersei had ordered her men to hold her back and make her watch as the queen had ripped the black haired, blue-eyed babes from their mother's breast and drowned them in the washing tub.

"They was only babes!" the maid howled, collapsing to her knees in body-heaving sobs. "They wasn' e'en talkin' ye', an' she murdered 'em! They was only babes, no 'arm ta anybody! She killed 'em, while I begged fer 'er ta lea'e 'em alone! Me boys, me boys!"

She wept senselessly, her body heaving with the force of her cries. Cersei was surprised and angry when Lady Martell darted to the servant, picking her up and cooing soothingly to her as she guided the young maid out of the witness box and away. Of course that thrice-cursed bitch of a she-wolf was the one who had found out about Hanna. Her fingerprints were all over the trial.

But the damage had already been done. Lowborn bastards they might have been, but the knowledge that a pair of innocent babes had been murdered by the queen with her own hands had just turned whatever support Cersei might have had left against her. Looks of disgust were shot towards her, and several people spat in her direction again, calling out for her immediate execution and denouncing her with clear disgust.

Then, just as Martell was beginning to stand again, Cersei's father at last intervened, much to her relief. Her father would save her, she knew it. Save her, her crown, and her children and brother. He was Tywin Lannister after all. These people would all regret what they had done when her father was finished with him.

"My lords, if I might address the court," he called, leaving his seat and coming forward.

"You may," Martell reluctantly agreed.

"My son, whom is also accused of taking part in these slanderous and baseless accusations," Lord Tywin stated. "Has demanded a trial by combat, as is his right. As he is considered the queen's accomplice, if he is found innocent by the Seven, then by default, she too is innocent of the supposed crimes. As such, I request that both of their fates be determined by the trial."

Martell pursed his lips, eyes narrow. "The judges will confer on the matter," he replied curtly. The trio hissed to one another for several moments before he turned back to the court.

"It appears there is a precedent for your request, Lord Lannister," he announced. "As such, we will grant it. Tomorrow at noon, Ser Jaime Lannister will fight the Crown's champion to prove the innocence or else the guilt of himself and Queen Cersei in these heinous crimes."

"And who shall be the champion of the Crown, Lord Martell?" Cersei called to him.

Martell turned back to her, blank-faced. "Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, will stand for the Crown in your trial, Your Grace."


	24. Alysanne VI

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**So, I have taken the interludes out of this story and put them together in another one, a mini-prequel that may get some glimpses of Aly and Oberyn's early years together added to it. A reviewer also helpfully told me that the Queen Who Never Was had Targaryen colouring, so that's now fixed.**

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**Alysanne VI**

_**The Red Keep: 15**__**th **__**September, 298 AC**_

The morning of the trial by combat for the Lannister twins, Aly woke up after her husband had already left, as per usual nowadays. Disappointed but unsurprised by that fact, she summoned Arrana to help her rise from and then took a long bath, lingering in the water well after it had grown cold as she stroked her swollen stomach and thought of her children.

A letter had arrived from her goodsister assuring her that the children had all arrived safely and were settling in, even if they were going through some culture shock at the ways of Aly's homeland. It was one thing to hear about it, another to see it with their own eyes. Another letter had come from Rickard, requesting they write to him about everything that had occurred and inquiring about the family's welfare as well as updating them on how things were in Dorne. He had added that Myrcella was terribly frightened and confused by the turn of events, not truly understanding what her mother had done or why she was now a bastard and no longer his betrothed, but that the news of Tommen coming to stay had pleased her greatly (the boy had been bundled off quickly to get him away from Robert's temper, whilst Joffrey was currently under house arrest, waiting for an escort to be arranged to take him to the Wall. Aly had her own thoughts on that solution. Her husband thought it a kinder fate for the lad, but Aly had her doubts. The Watchmen did not like it when criminals were sent to them. Unless you had a good reason for your crimes you tended to get 'lost' on a ranging early on. No rapists ever lasted more than a moon at most. Joffrey, spoilt and psychotic as he was, would probably be dead within a year.) The governesses were doing their best to reassure the confused young girl and Rickard too was trying to be kind, though he confessed that he was really too busy to do much.

Her eldest was doing so well, and she was so terribly proud of him. It was hard to accept that he was four-and-ten now. It felt as if it were only yesterday that Arrana had laid him on her breast as a newborn, covered in blood and howling his tiny lungs out with rage at being forced out of the safety of her womb into the cold and harsh world. She had been utterly enchanted by his tiny form, how completely amazing he was to her eyes. It was the first time since the news of her siblings' deaths had arrived that she had felt anything other than rage or grief, and his birth had been what had finally broken her out of her haze of helpless, enraged, grief. She had given Oberyn a genuine smile for the first time when she presented their son to him. Seeing the way he had handled their child with such care, the utter adoration in his eyes as he looked at the babe and the way he had thanked her for what he had called as the greatest gift he had ever received in his life, had caused her to start feeling fond of her husband.

A lot of people simply assumed that she had been the one to request he be named for her late father, a very Stark, Northron name. In fact, it had been Oberyn's suggestion that they do so, and she had been as surprised as anybody. She had assumed he would want to honour his own House or even his foster family, as was typical. It seemed to her that the father's family was always honoured above the mother's in the south. She had been ready to reconcile herself to any name, just as long as it was not any variation of Robert. That was one thing that she would have fought tooth and nail against. She had not been able to keep herself from weeping at his suggestion of using her father's name for her firstborn child.

It had been similar with Aliandra's birth. Aly would have been willing to name her anything except Elia, and she had come up with a dozen different ways to convince him not to honour his sister, ranging from insisting with superstitious fear that it might bring her namesake's fate down on their daughter to threatening to drink moon tea for the rest of her childbearing years to keep from having another child if he made her endure such. She hadn't even had the chance to open her mouth when he had instead suggested that they name her for his grandmother, whom he had been fond of prior to her death shortly before he was sent to the Vale. She had been startled enough to blurt out that she'd thought he would want to call her after Elia.

"Do you really think that I am cruel enough to hurt you like that?" he had replied with a bitter twist to his mouth and an offended glint in his eye that had made her stomach twist in guilt. She kissed him and told him that she loved him for the first time after that.

"You ought to get out, my love," Oberyn himself interrupted her reminiscing, making her start in surprise, not having realized that he had returned to their apartments, let alone was watching her with a half-smile playing on his lips. "The trial is in two hours, and you will need time to get ready."

"Help me out," she instructed him in response, accepting his hand and letting him half-lift her from the tub and steady her. "I am always so ungainly when I am with child," she complained, holding onto his arm to keep from slipping.

He shook his head in denial, kissing her forehead. "The only sight better than you round with my child is you holding our babe in your arms," he repeated a sentiment she had heard him say a thousand times before. She gave a wry smile and kissed his cheek.

"You're a fool," she declared. "But I find myself terribly fond of it."

He gave a light smile, but she noticed that it failed to reach his eyes. He had been withdrawn ever since questioning Cersei, though he refused to say anything about what had happened. Garris had admitted that she had said something that had clearly deeply shaken her husband and Aly cursed the incestuous whore for the millionth time. Damn her for whatever she had said. Aly had warned Oberyn that she would likely lash out to try and protect herself, but even being prepared didn't always save you. Whatever she'd said had hit the mark, and combined with the stress of everything else he was growing wearier and more troubled by the day.

"What do you think that Tywin's plan is?" Oberyn asked her as he helped her walk back into their bedchamber to dress.

Aly pursed her lips, tilting her head in thought. "The evidence is stacked against them," she said slowly. "But a trial by combat is decided by the skills of the champions, and the Seven."

Utter nonsense of course, but trial by combat was deeply ingrained in southron culture, though in her homeland it was not considered a legitimate way to prove your innocence. The gods had better things to do than intervene in the judgements and fights of mortals. Unless it was a large-scale battle, which was an entirely different matter.

"Jaime is good, one of the best swordsmen alive," she continued. "If he wins, it clears their names and, as our House is the accusers, runs our name through the mud. The Crown would be shamed, and House Lannister would be in an even stronger position than before. That being said, Jaime has spent the past moon in the Black Cells, not to mention his questioning. He will not be up to his usual standard of fighting. I am surprised that Tywin did not have his children choose somebody else to act as their champion and fight for them."

She frowned as she spoke, her gut twisting in unease.

"They cannot change it, surely?" she murmured, looking at Oberyn. He paused, brow crinkling before his own expression became unsettled.

"They could," he replied slowly. "If the champion were declared unfit to fight by at least two maesters for some reason, they could elect another to stand in their place."

Aly felt her eyes widen in dismay. "Go and check," she advised him. "_Now_."

He nodded curtly, quickly kissing her before running off. Arrana came in, looking puzzled, and Aly quickly turned to her.

"_**You have it still**_?" she whispered to her most trusted confident. Arrana alone received Aly's full confidence. Much as she loved Oberyn, he was not suited to the murky world of court and the honourless acts one needed to preform for the sake of surviving it. It therefore fell to Aly to do those tasks, in order to ensure her marital House's safety.

Besides, a great deal of her plotting involved acting against the Usurper, and she had no desire to place her husband in the position of deciding between her and Baratheon. Unlike the Usurper, she loved him too much to put him through that guilt if she could avoid it. One day she suspected that she would have to do so, but she had no intention of doing so before it was absolutely necessary.

"_**I do**_," Arrana confirmed in the same low tone. _**"I was going to give it to him after helping you dress."**_

"_**Not yet," **_Aly responded. _**"I fear that the Old Lion intends to have another fight in his son's place, changing the fighters at last minute to put Ser Barristan off his guard, and I would not have our plan ruined due to the wrong person drinking the potion."**_

"_**He will dearly regret his actions,"**_ Arrana breathed.

"The North remembers," Aly agreed, in Andaii this time. Her tone was as cold and unforgiving as the icy plains ruled by her family for time immemorial.

**ASoVASoVASoV**

The outer ward had been chosen for the combat. When Aly arrived she found her husband speaking to a maester she didn't know and Tywin, scowls on both lords' expressions. She went to his side, mask of an obedient and submissive wife in place, and silently listened. Nobody took notice of her, save for Oberyn entwining their fingers and squeezing her hand softly. She ran her thumb over his knuckles, hoping to soothe him a bit.

"Ser Jaime is not fit for combat," the maester quavered.

Aly's lip curled for a brief instant in disdain. As she had suspected. She hoped that the note she sent to Ser Barristan had been received and taken notice of.

"I have been informed by Maester Ballabar of that already," Oberyn snapped at him. "Who shall fight in his stead then, my Lord Lannister?"

"Ser Gregor Clegane," Tywin smirked, and Aly barely managed to keep herself from reacting in a surge of raw fury to the mention of the man she hated most in the world, the only person she loathed more than Tywin himself. The man who had brutally slaughtered her sister, Lya's babes and been one of Barbrey's rapists. He had then been rewarded for slaughtering a woman and her infants with a keep and a new wife who had died mysteriously not even a year later. Amory Lorch, meanwhile, had received a knighthood for murdering Ben, Barbrey and Melara. She wanted both of them dead at her feet, and the mere mention of their names made her seethe in helpless rage. She had not known he was in the capital, otherwise she would have had him poisoned already. She nearly growled, feeling her fingernails dig into her husband's skin, drawing blood from the tiny indents she left there.

"I see," Oberyn answered coolly. "And is Clegane ready to fight this morning?"

"Yes," Lannister smirked. "He is ready and willing to prove the innocence of my daughter the queen and that of my son."

"The trial begins in half an hour," Oberyn stated flatly, not saying anything about Lannister's ridiculous insistence on proclaiming the twins' innocence, as if their guilt was not practically spelled out in the stars above. "Ensure that your children's champion is ready and waiting."

With that, he turned and stalked off, practically dragging Aly, who had abandoned her submissive mask in favour of trying to send daggers at the Lord of the Rock using only her eyes, with him. She could not stop herself casting another bitter look over her shoulder at the Old Lion as they left.

"Damn him!" Oberyn hissed. "Both Ballabar and the Lannisters' personal maester, Creylen, both declared Jaime unfit. They did this deliberately to set us off-balance!"

"Is Selmy capable enough to deal with Clegane?" Aly wondered, clenching her fist in her skirts.

"He is Lord Commander of the Kingsguard for a good reason beyond being the last survivor of Aerys' guards save Jaime, but he _is_ getting on in age," Oberyn ran a hand through his hair, looking stressed. "I just cannot say, Aly."

"He has to win," Aly breathed. "He _must_."

This was no longer just about ruining the Lannisters and seeing the White Lion and his bitch of a sister dead. This was an opportunity for the Mountain himself to die. Aly had never cared whom how her enemies died, just so long as they did fall, and fall epically, in a way that destroyed their precious legacies and ground the ashes of them to dust. She didn't think she would be able to keep believing in the Gods if Clegane won and she lost all of her chances at vengeance at once. If Clegane won, then Cersei would live on as queen, wearing the crown that had been meant for Lya, and Tywin would be in an even stronger position than before.

It couldn't be allowed to happen.

She glanced over at Arrana, meeting her eyes and using them to point out the Mountain, who had now entered the arena alongside the two accused, who looked as small as their dwarf brother in comparison to his unnatural bulk. Her handmaid gave a fraction of a nod in understanding, then spun on her heel and disappeared into the crowds, all gathered to watch the trial by combat. Aly was pleased and very much _un_surprised to hear the vitriol being directed towards not only the Lannisters, but the Usurper as well.

Oberyn was not so pleased. His brows furrowed and his jaw tensed. "Are they insulting the king?"

Aly glanced at him. "Aerys might have been a tyrant, but he was only one person, and he hardly affected the smallfolk of the city," she told him. "Queen Rhaella and Rhaegar were well-loved, and very charitable. Smallfolk do not care whom sits on the Iron Throne, only how they and their families are affected by that person's manner of rule. The lives of the commons have gone _down_ since the Baratheons came to power. And it is not just my dislike of them that causes me to say so. Speak to any commoner or servant who is old enough to recall life under the Targaryens, ask them which dynasty they prefer."

Oberyn was silent, looking distant and troubled, as they took their seats on the judges' dais. Ser Barristan had entered the arena. It seemed as if everyone in the city had gathered to watch and see if their hated queen and her brother were to die. Everyone save for the king, who was of course in a drunken stupor in his room under the guard of Ser Arys. The man had spent the past moon and a half being even more useless and irritating than ever, either drinking himself senseless (without even having the common decency to have heart failure as Aly kept hoping and praying for, the way anybody else with his lifestyle would have had_ years _ago) or else practicing in the yard. Anyone who saw him spar could tell that he was far past his prime now, barely able to wield his own hammer, though she would grudgingly acknowledge that he was putting effort into regaining his physique. Aly and her Northrons had laughed themselves silly at the sight of him, red faced and struggling to lift his precious warhammer, before descending into bitterness over the fact that Rhaegar had died at the hands of such a pathetic man. Aly figured that if the Usurper had not been aided by her husband, the Silver Prince would most definitely have been the one to win the day.

How different would life have been for everyone in that world?

Oberyn stood, drawing the attention A dozen trumpeters blew a fanfare to quiet the crowd.

"Due to Ser Jaime Lannister being declared incapable of fighting in the defence of himself and Cersei Baratheon of House Lannister, the accused have appointed Ser Gregor of House Clegane to fight in their stead.

The crowd roared in disapproval, rotten food was thrown at both the Lannisters and Clegane.

"Childkillers! Rapist!" they yelled. "Murderers! Incestuous scum! Cheats!"

Aly smirked at the rage-filled expression on the queen's face at the way she was being treated by those she thought of as inferior. The Old Lion's own face was red, increasing Aly's dark glee.

"The trial will now begin!" Oberyn called over the din. The High Septon shuffled forward in his tall crystal crown, and prayed that the Father Above would help them in this judgment, and that the Warrior would lend his strength to the arm of the man whose cause was just.

Aly fixed her gaze on the pair who were striding towards one another, Ser Barristan the Bold in his gold armour and white cloak of the Kingsguard, and the Mountain that Rides in a long yellow surcoat bearing the three black dogs of Clegane. Underneath the surcoat he wore heavy plate over chainmail, dull grey steel dinted and scarred in battle. Beneath that would be boiled leather and a layer of quilting. A flat-topped greathelm was bolted to his gorget, with breaths around the mouth and nose and a narrow slit for vision. The crest atop it was a stone fist.

The pair wasted no time showboating simply beginning to clash. Ser Barristan was a good, talented fighter. Elegant. It was obvious that age had not hindered his abilities.

Clegane, meanwhile, was clearly all about his size and brute force, no technique or actual skill at all. His strength and bulk were what allowed him to terrorize so many.

Ser Barristan used his smaller frame to his advantage, avoiding the man's blows. He landed several strikes on the Mountain's armour, but nothing came of it.

Aly's heart was in her throat as she watched, imploring the gods, Old and New alike, to be on the side of justice that day.

'_Let them die' _she prayed, over and over. _'Please, let them die. Please. Let Selmy win, I beseech You. Let them die.' _

She noticed, then, that the Mountain was beginning to slow down. Only a fraction, but enough that Ser Barristan, who seemed to be having no problems at all in the fight in spite of having lost the use of his left arm to a badly timed block, was quick to spy it for himself and take advantage. Aly briefly dragged her gaze from the fight long enough to seek out Arrana in the crowd and meet her friend's gaze. One look and she knew that her loyal confidant had managed to drug Clegane.

She spied the Lannisters as she returned her focus to the fight. Jaime was pale beneath his bruises. Tywin wore a distant and tight expression, the Imp was clearly horrified, and Cersei looked enraged. Aly smirked and went back to watching.

She lost her pleasure when she saw Clegane wound Selmy again, making him fall to the ground, separated from his sword. He rolled away, trying to get to it again, but the Mountain was nearing him too quickly for him to grab his weapon again unless something interceded.

Wargs only had one true familiar whom they could bond with. However, if they were strong enough, some of them could temporarily take over the mind of a nearby animal, though it was far harder than if they were warging into their companion's mind. Aly, like nearly every Stark, was a strong and well-trained warg, though she rarely did so. She had little reason to.

Now, however, she did. She didn't even consciously decide what to do, simply flinging her mind into the conscious of a seagull flying above the arena and grabbing control, sending it racing downwards to the ground. Clegane had reached Selmy, and was raising his sword to finish him off, when the bird flew straight at the Mountain's face, intent on scratching his eyes out through the visor of the helmet. It failed, but the action allowed enough time for Selmy to roll back to his feet, sword in hand once again.

Aly released the bird, a discreet look telling her that everybody was too busy being shocked by the bird's strange actions to have realized what she had done.

When she again returned her attention to the trial, it was to see that the battle was clearly about to be decided in the Crown's favour.

Ser Barristan got a strike behind Clegane's knee, one that sent the man crashing to the ground. The Lord Commander went over to him and, without fanfare, decapitated the man. The crowd went wild with glee, screaming their delight over both the Mountain's death and the impending executions of the 'incestuous lion whore!'

Aly stared at the corpse of her sister's murderer and fell into a swoon.


	25. Oberyn VII

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**Glad everyone was pleased with the Trial by combat, but it's not gonna be that simple to deal with the lions! ;-D.**

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

**Oberyn VII**

_**The Red Keep: 17th **__**September, 298 AC**_

Early morning, two days after the trial by combat, Oberyn rushed down into the Black Cells where the Lannister twins had been placed to await their executions. The pair had been placed in a specific section of the cells, to keep them segregated from the rest of the prisoners in deference to their high birth and Cersei's sex.

Oberyn had ordered men he trusted be placed at both the regular entrances and those of the cells themselves, to guard the incestuous pair and he regretted that fact now, as he knelt on one knee beside the downed form of Garris Wells. He reached out to check for any signs of life, despite the lack of movement in the man's chest, and his shoulders slumped when he felt no thrum of a heartbeat in his guard's chest, or breath of air from his slightly-parted lips.

"They are all dead, my lord Hand," stated Ser Daeron Brune, a goldcloak and cousin to the Lord of Crackclaw Point, who had been the one to come and alert Oberyn to what had happened. "Looks like they were poisoned."

"Aye, so it seems," Oberyn muttered in agreement, eyeing the purple lines around the guard's lips. _'I am sorry. I will see you are avenged,'_ he thought to the unfortunate man, reaching out to carefully close his eyelids before standing and looking at Daemon, who looked solemn and grim. "Go and have the Westermen all confined to their quarters," he instructed his former squire. "Check and see if anyone, servant, guard or noble, is missing."

Other men had already been sent to find the missing couple, though Oberyn doubted they would manage to find two specific people in a city of approximately five hundred thousand.

He had no doubt that the Old Lion had arranged the breakout, desiring to save the lives of his only daughter and favourite son. But whether they would be able to find evidence of the act was an entirely different manner.

"Yes my lord," Daemon responded promptly, before selecting a few of the goldcloaks accompanying them to help him and then rushing off to fulfil Oberyn's instructions.

"Lead the way," Oberyn said to Brune, signalling to him to guide Oberyn through the maze of tunnels. He suppressed a grimace as he followed the knight through the dark corridors. The place stunk of piss and other disgusting scents, and the prisoners all moaned and yelled, pleading for release. The very atmosphere of the place was enough to drive a man to utter despair, and Oberyn was relieved when a heavy door cut him off from it.

They found Ser Brynden examining the cell where Queen Cersei had been placed, a deep frown on his face.

"What have you discovered, Ser Brynden?" Oberyn called to him as he ducked inside.

"Very little, Lord Martell," the Blackfish replied. "When the guards arrived for the shift change, they found the guards at the entrance, and those assigned to guard the two, all dead. Ser Addam, who was the ranking officer, sent runners to find the two of us whilst the remainder secured the other prisoners and made certain that nobody else had escaped. In case you are wondering, the only prisoners missing are Queen Cersei and Jaime."

"The guards died of poison, I take it?" Oberyn asked as he gave a nod of approval in response to the actions taken by Ser Addam.

"It appears so," Ser Brynden agreed. "All of them have strange coloured lines around their lips. But the new GrandMaester, Ebrose I think his name is? He is the Archmaester of Healing, and so I have requested that he open the bodies and examine them to see if he can identify the poison."

Oberyn nodded slowly in thought, rubbing his chin as he scanned the room.

He had always had an interest in poisons, but Jon had called it the weapon of women and cowards, and had steered Oberyn away from learning about them whilst he was under the Lord of the Eyrie's guardianship. Then later on, he had simply been too busy with Dorne to research things, and he had been forced to put aside his hobby of actively studying things that interested him whenever he desired in favour of simply reading the occasional book when he had the time, which was rare to say the least, between running Dorne and raising his family. Given a choice between spending time with his children and wife or studying a treatise on the effects of different types of poison, Oberyn always chose his family.

"The keys were taken from the guard's body," the Master of Laws continued, scowling slightly. "It appears that they simply unlocked the door and walked right out."

"Well, after changing apparently," Oberyn pointed out, kicking the dirty red dress that was lying in a heap in the corner of the cell. The same dress that Cersei had been wearing during the trial by combat. He gritted his teeth in frustration, curling his hands into fists.

They had been so close to closing the book on this whole disaster, and putting the episode firmly behind them. He had been so close to being able to turn in his badge of office and head home (well, after going North to collect his children anyway). Now, things had spun out of control again.

Oberyn dreaded how Robert would react on waking from his wine-induced slumber and discovering that the treacherous couple had escaped. Thank the Gods that Tommen and Myrcella were safely out of sight of the king, and Joffrey too. Robert would probably have turned his wrath on them otherwise.

"I have sent men out searching for them already, and ordered that the gates and port be closed," Ser Brynden informed him. "However, they have a head start of quite some time from before we even managed to learn of their escape, and locking down a city takes time. They are probably well on their way by ship by now."

"I know," Oberyn sighed, running a hand through his curls and sighing. "Still, something must be done. I have ordered the Westermen be confined and interrogated for any knowledge of the escape, but..." He trailed off.

The Blackfish nodded in quiet understanding of the whole thing.

Just then, the sounds of running footsteps came and they hastily exited the cell. Daemon came rushing up them, not even pausing to bow before making his announcement.

"The Lannister contingent is gone!"

"What?" Oberyn barked furiously.

"All of them, even their servants," Daemon added, eyes wide. "I have men searching the keep and the city, but I fear that it is too late."

"Gods damn it all to the deepest, darkest depths of the seven hells," Oberyn swore, clenching his hand into a fist and slamming it against the cold stone wall. At least that confirmed the answer to the question of whom had orchestrated the escape of the former queen and her twin. Not that he had had any doubts in the first place, of course.

"How in the Gods' names could they have all gotten away without being discovered?" Ser Brynden wondered, wearing a fierce scowl.

"Tywin Lannister was Aerys' Hand of the King for decades," Oberyn reminded him. "He must have learned of at least a couple of secret passages in that time. They probably got out that way."

"Damn it," the Master of Laws swore.

"Ser Brynden, Daemon, I would have you both organize the search," Oberyn ordered, getting a grip on his fury and disappointment in order as to focus on the situation. "I must go and, and inform His Grace the king as to what has occurred."

They gave him looks of sympathy before rushing off to obey his instructions. Oberyn himself took a minute to prepare himself before going off to find his king and give him the bad news that the Lannisters had fled, and were likely now in rebellion.

**ASoVASoVASoV**

When he arrived at the king's bedchamber, Oberyn let out a sigh of exasperation at the sight of the king half-dressed and fondling a naked girl with one hand while downing a goblet of wine with the other.

He stepped inside, jaw tight with frustration. Was it too much to ask for the king to actually do _something _other than whore, drink or practice spar on occasion? Apparently it was.

How in the seven hells had Jon managed to keep his patience with all of this for fifteen years? Oberyn wondered for the millionth time. He glanced around, noticing that the list he had made up of possible maidens whom Robert could take as his new queen was lying on the sidetable, the only document in sight.

"Your Grace, I hope I am not interrupting," Oberyn said curtly, a bit of his irritation leaking into his tone despite his best efforts to hide it.

Robert greeted him with a wide grin. "Oberyn!" he exclaimed. "Well? Is it done yet? Am I free of the blasted whore?"

Oberyn grimaced. "There has been a complication in regards to the executions," he replied cautiously. He cast a pointed look at the maid. She flushed in embarrassment and scrambled off the bed, snatching up her dress and pulling it on hastily.

Robert groaned in disappointment. "Oh, come on Oberyn," he complained. "What now?"

Oberyn waited until the girl was gone to respond. "They escaped," he announced bluntly.

Robert's expression crumpled into rage. "They _what_?"

"They escaped," Oberyn repeated. "And given that the rest of the Lannister retinue all fled in the night, I presume that they were the source of the guards' murders and the pair's escape. I imagine that they are on their way back to the Westerlands to call their banners by now. I have men searching the city, but I doubt they'll manage to find them. It's too late."

He sidestepped the goblet thrown at his head, and stayed silent as Robert paced the length of the room and ranted, spitting venom and showing a hatred towards the Lannisters that the king typically reserved for the Targaryens. Oberyn idly thought that he ought to commend the lions for succeeding in rivalling the dragons in earning Robert's enmity.

"I want their heads!" Robert bellowed. "All of them!"

"And when they are found, you shall have them," Oberyn replied mildly. "But given that we are likely to be going to war against the West, you need to hasten your decision on what you will do for an heir."

Robert scowled harder, clearly annoyed at what he called Oberyn's 'nagging' on the topic. Oberyn had already laid out the various options that the king had. Firstly, Robert could name his brother Stannis as his heir (Oberyn had quickly nixed the king's suggestion of having Renly be named as the temporary heir in lieu of Stannis, as doing so would not only allow a dozen different disgruntled heirs and such to press their own claims for their families' lands, causing chaos all throughout the kingdoms but would earn the wrath of the Stormlord.), he could legitimize one of his bastard sons and name them as heir (most likely it would be Edric Waters in that case, given he was the only acknowledged boy and had been raised as a lord. The nobility would fuss enough with being made to bend the knee to a bastard, legitimized or not. No doubt they would have fits if they were made to do so to one born of an alehouse worker) or else Robert could remarry and have new children. That was the best solution really, but it had a few problems.

The main difficulty with that option was that it likely meant a regency, and a long one at that. As much as Oberyn hated to think of it, Oberyn could see as easily as any other that Robert was driving himself into an early grave. Even though he had lost some weight after getting back into sparring on a regular basis, he had not changed his eating or drinking habits, and was drunk more often than not. Oberyn feared the realm would be kingless sooner rather than later, and then there would almost certainly be a succession crisis, with Robert's brothers, possibly some of his bastards (on the urging of whomever got their hooks into the children), quite perhaps Joffrey or Tommen (or rather, their mother and grandfather) and maybe even the Dragon-in-Exile all tossing their hats into the ring (or else having their kin or various ambitious nobles who had access to them doing so on their behalves in the hopes of ruling through a puppet king).

Oberyn still had nightmares of the Rebellion, and this time around his son would be involved in any conflicts, a thought that horrified him regardless of Rickard's skills.

No, there was only one safe way forward. Robert needed to clarify the succession, as soon as possible, least the realm dissolve into war the moment of his death.

Robert plucked up the page grumpily. "More than half of these are loyalists," he pointed out with a look of disgust. Oberyn grit his teeth in frustration.

"You need to bind them to your reign, Robert," he insisted. "You complain to me that they will turn on you the moment the Exiled Dragon crosses the Narrow Sea, but how can you expect them to be loyal if all they gain from your reign is contempt for staying loyal to their previous liege lords?"

"You sound like a dragon lover yourself!" Robert snapped, eyes narrowing. "Maybe that wolf-bitch-"

"Do not speak of my wife like that!" Oberyn snarled, his temper flaring in rage. "Aly is a good woman, and I will not stand for it! Let me remind you of something, Robert! I did _not_ raise my banners because I wanted the Targaryens off the Iron Throne! I did not rebel out of a desire to be party to the murders of infants not weaned from their mothers! I did it to gain justice for my family!_ You_ were the one to declare yourself king, yet you refuse to accept the consequences of your own actions! You named me your Hand, and yet you refuse to listen to me!"

"If you are so dissatisfied with the office, why do you not resign from it?" Robert retorted angrily.

"Gladly!" Oberyn spat, yanking off his badge of office and flinging it at the king's feet. Before Robert could recover from his surprise at the move, Oberyn turned on his heel and stormed out, fully intent on getting as far away from King's Landing as possible, as soon as possible.

He made his way back to the Tower of the Hand, his blood still boiling in anger, and ordered the first servant he saw to begin packing for them to leave, sending a runner to organize a ship for them before at last going into the bedchamber.

Aly was sitting on the bed, hands folded in her lap as she stared at the window. He felt a jolt of alarm at the vacant look in her eyes.

He had been distant from her recently, Cersei's words echoing in his ears and making him choke on his own guilt and hypocrisy. He could barely manage to look her in the eye, the queen's words making him go over every moment of their marriage to try and figure out if she truly did love him and forgive him for the mess that he had made of the start of their marriage.

"Aly?" he stepped over to her, his brow crinkled in concern.

"Oberyn," she answered flatly, one hand resting over her stomach protectively.

"Are you alright?" he asked tentatively. "Is the babe-?"

"Fine," she replied coldly.

He faltered, bemused and uncertain as to what he had done to earn her ire.

"Then what-?" he began to ask, only for her to interrupt him again.

"Who is Meria's mother?"

Oberyn froze in shock, stunned. "Why does it matter?" he responded after a moment, unable to think properly, he was so shocked by her sudden mention of the taboo topic.

She twisted to look at him, eyes glinting bitterly and her face twisted into a look of barely-restrained fury.

"Because," she said, her voice filled with hurt and betrayal. "My cousin, who disappeared during the War, was waiting for me when I woke up. She gave me some shocking information, some of which related to Meria. Or rather, to Rhaenys. That is what her mother named her, is it not?

Rhaenys of House Targaryen, daughter of Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lady Elia Martell."

Oberyn stared at his wife, sure that his face was paler than their sheets and unable to think clearly enough to come up with a response.

"Never mind," Aly said coldly when he failed to answer. "Do not bother saying a word.

I already know the truth, and I have no desire to hear you tell me anymore lies."


	26. Eddard II

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**AN: Bad news guys. I have some writer's block with this story. I know how I want it to end, but I've hit a wall in figuring out how to get it there, and I've started this new tv show that is further distracting me. I AM NOT abandoning this story, but I may take a break, or at least update less frequently, while I try and write it properly.**

**Sorry.**

**Enjoy, read, and review!**

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**Eddard II**

_**Winterfell: 2**__**nd**__** October, 298 AC **_

It was ridiculous to be nervous. He was Eddard Stark, the Magnar of the Winterlands, the Warden of the North (the Usurper had wanted to take the title from the Starks and give it to one of his sycophants, as he had taken away the Wardenship of the South from the Tyrells and given it to the Martells in their place, but his Falcon Hand had convinced him that doing so would be one insult too many for the loyalists-which was the complete truth, especially as Ned had yet to learn of the twins' survival at the time), and the Lord of Winterfell, head of the most ancient dynasty in the world. Even the Old Valyrian Freehold had been younger than his family line.

Regardless of whether or not he was in favour of the so-called 'King', Eddard Stark was one of the most powerful men in Westeros, given the treaty that had united the North and South of the Seven Kingdoms and gave considerable rights to the North. He always would be, no matter what happened. Even if all of the power at his fingertips, including the best army in the realm and an intelligence network better than Varys', had not been enough to protect his sisters and brothers during the War of the Usurper. He ought not to be nervous about the thought of meeting two children of four-and-ten, barely older than his own eldest son. Yes, they were his kin and this would be their first meeting, but he had not been nervous at the prospect of meeting Aly's children when they'd arrived, frightened and upset, about a fortnight prior.

It was different with Aly's children, though. Aly herself was alive and well, her children had been raised as sheltered summer children and he had communicated to them through letters, not to mention she had told them many stories of Ned and their other lost siblings. None of Aly's sons was the future King.

The twins had been raised by their paternal grandmother and her second husband whilst they were all on the run from the Usurper's assassins, and Aegon was not only his late sister's son, but also the King. They had never been able to risk any letters being exchanged directly, all of them going to contacts and allies in the Free Contacts. Was Ned to greet him as king or as kin? What of Dany? They were due to meet within the next turn of the moon, and Ned was anxious to make a good impression. Not only was Aegon his liege lord, but, more importantly perhaps, he was Ned's nephew and Dany his niece.

They were the only pieces left in the world of his sweet, lost sister who rode like the wind and had always gone to him for advice. He couldn't bear the thought of Aegon's eyes, inherited from Lyanna, looking at him with dislike or indifference.

"My love," Ashara slipped into the room with a letter in hand, interrupting his brooding thoughts. "A letter has come from your sister. 'tis marked with a paw in the left corner. Then there is another one from Cregard."

Ned frowned in worry as he rose to his feet, concerned as to what the letters might contain. Cregard had undoubtably sent a report on his mission, and it was important to read it soon. But Ned was more eager to read Aly's message first.

Hopefully, she had sent him an explanation as to what had happened to have her household all leaving King's Landing in such mysterious haste, as soon as the tide had turned favourable. His spies had told him of an argument between the Usurper and Martell, one that had apparently pushed the Viper over the edge of his tolerance for his former foster brother's antics, but none of them knew any of the details of the disagreement. All they knew was there had been one after the Lord of Dorne had gone to alert the Usurper as to what the escape of the Lioness Whore and her family, and that very afternoon the Martell household had all left the city, not even waiting for their things to be fully packed.

The news of the rift between the Usurper and his most-loyal supporter now that he had set Cersei aside and lost the West gave Ned hope that Dorne might keep out of the coming war. If Dorne stayed neutral, then the Butcher King only had the support of the Stormlands, and Stannis and his wife (who was very good at antagonizing people, being rather similar to a milder version of Cersei with, if possible, even less comprehension of the fact that actions have consequences) had managed to aggravate many of his vassals when he refused (on Lady Baratheon's insistence-she wanted, like her despicable,_ traitor_ of a father, to have her children all wed into the Great Houses) to betroth his children to any of their own. Several of the Stormlander Houses that had fought for the loyalists in the Usurper's War had been reached out to and either agreed to 'delay' their levies coming to their Lord Paramount's aid, or else to, in the case of the Penroses, who had intermarried with the Targaryens on several occasions, outright turn against the stags, preferably during a battle, catching the Baratheons off-guard.

Those thoughts running through his mind, Ned opened his sister's letter first, putting his spy's to the side to be opened afterwards.

The Starks had long used particular encryptions and symbols to keep their communications secret from outsiders and enemies. A wolf's pawprint in the top left corner signalled that the letter was urgent and had to be read immediately on being received. As he trusted his wife more than anybody else, and kept no secrets from her, Ned did not bother to send Ashara from the solar as he took the letter from her and slit it open with his heavy silver letter opener and pulled out a page from the envelope to read his sister's message. She had clearly written it in a hurry, from the hint of untidiness to her elegant calligraphy and the shortness of the letter. It was less than three paragraphs long, and frustratingly lacking in details to assuage his worry for her.

_The Red Keep_

_King's Landing,_

_The Crownlands_

_17__th__ September, 298 AC_

_To my dearest brother, Magnar Eddard of the Winterlands, Lord of Winterfell and Head of House Stark,_

_I fear that this message will be short, for we will be leaving the Keep within the next hour, thank the Gods for their mercy. I received a messenger this afternoon. I am now aware of what you have been keeping from me, and more besides. I cannot say that I am not upset, Neddy. I wish that I had known. But I know that you made the correct decision by not doing so. The risk to them was too great, and more important than soothing my grief. _

_My husband has resigned from his post as Hand of the King, and has ordered our household to prepare to go. Our servants are packing as I write, and we shall bring only what is needed. Everything else can be replaced. Oberyn and I have had a disagreement, the details of which I shall confer to you in person. I gave him an ultimatum, and he has made his decision._

_We shall see each other soon, Brother._

_All my love. Take care of the children. Remember our father's warning: when the cold winds blow and winter comes, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives._

_Your loving and loyal sister,_

_Alysanne Martell of House Stark, Lady Paramount of Dorne and Magnara of the Winterlands._

Ned sighed and looked at Ashara. "What do you think, my beloved?" he asked her. "What is the guidance of my shining star?"

She pursed her lips in thought, one elegant brow furrowed slightly. Even almost two whole decades later, she was still as beautiful as the day they had first met, her figure unruined in spite of her childbirths and no strands of grey lacing her dark hair as it did his.

"I know not, my love," she admitted with a sigh. "We do not yet know what caused the argument between the Usurper and our goodbrother, nor do we know what Aly means by discovering 'more besides' the truth of Aegon and Dany's survival. We can do nothing but await her arrival."

Ned sighed and grimaced. He was a patient man, patient enough to spend nigh on sixteen years waiting for a chance to gain revenge for his murdered siblings, yet he had to admit the truth, even if it was only to himself and to his wife.

"I am tired of waiting. I am tired of waiting for the twins to be old enough for Aegon to claim the Iron Throne and tired of waiting for our family's chance for vengeance. Tired of waiting to ensure that our strength is the same as it was before the Usurper's War so that the kingdom will be safe, and that our House is secured through our children so that our line will not die with me or be submerged by the Martells through one of my sister's children.

I want to _act _Ashara. My siblings' spirits, those of Barbrey and my niece, they cannot rest until they are avenged. Until my blood-oath to destroy the Lannisters as they destroyed Lyanna and Benjen is fulfilled and Tywin Lannister's head, along with his brute enforcers, are all dead. Until Cersei pays for taking the crown that should have been my sister's."

Unlike many men, Ned was not foolish enough to dismiss Cersei as a threat or think she was a pawn of Tywin's solely because of her gender. In some ways, she was almost worse than Tywin, because he at least understood that actions had consequences, and there was only so far you could push the line before people snapped. Cersei did not seem to realize that her father was no god, and she was nothing without her surname. But she failed to understand that, and it would be her downfall one day. It had already cost her the title of Queen Consort to the Usurper.

It was lovely to think that she would go done in history as the incestuous whore of a traitor, and nothing more. Soon enough, she would be rotting, forgotten, at the bottom of the worst of the seven hells that the burners were all so fond of.

"I know, my love," Ashara murmured, moving closer to him and cupping his cheek with her delicate hand. "Fear not, Husband. Our nephew and niece and their family will reclaim their rightful place soon enough. What has Cregard written?"

Sighing, still frustrated with the lack of details written by his sister and the slowness of his family's vengeance, Ned turned his attention to the report sent by Cregard Greystark, a third cousin to the current head of the House and one of the leading members of the Winterlands' spy ring. The letter was in encrypted Old Tongue of course, and Ned was forced (as per usual) to take several minutes working to crack the code with Ashara's help.

_20__th__ September, 298 AC_

_To A Shoilse _**(Your Grace in Irish-using it as the address for the Starks in this to show they're above lords and ladies),**_ Eddard Stark, Magnar of the Winterlands, Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell and Head of the Most Ancient and Most Honourable House Stark, greetings._

_As requested, I have successfully arranged for the Lannisters to escape, inserting several new Eyes within their group to monitor their activities. The lions are unaware of our involvement in the matter. They believe, in their arrogance, that it was their own skills (little though they have of it, for Tywin's mind, while still strong, is not as good as it used to be. His age is beginning to catch up with him, along with certain __mixtures__ that he has been taking. The maester was very agreeable towards slipping him some of the potion once I had given him the gold. It seems that fear does not equal loyalty when coin is involved.)_

_Returning to the topic of the Butcher's actions, even before the trial by combat, the Bloody Lion had sent men after his grandsons, and they managed to successfully gain custody of the two of them, killing their guards and the other members of their escorts. As per usual, the Westermen were brutes, and the Crownlanders were useless. _

_The Butcher has also sent a letter to each of his bannermen, with instructions that clearly show his intentions. He has ordered the entrances to the Westerlands be sealed off. The navy is being prepared and his vassals have been ordered to gather their levies, all of them. Those are all of the openly known and official orders he has sent out to his people. I do not have to inform you that it is clear that he is preparing for war against the Usurper. Just as you had wished for, my liege._

Ned pursed his lips in thought as he considered the paragraph. Ashara sat in his lap, anchoring herself in place with her arm. It was a very inappropriate position, but a comfortable and intimate one. The news was pleasing so far. Ned deeply regretted that the lion was living longer instead of being executed by his own goodson, but the poison would kill him slowly, and painfully instead.

In the meantime, the Usurper and the Lion, the two biggest obstacles to Aegon ascending to his rightful position, would be too occupied with one another to notice the return of the true king until too late. And this particular potion caused not only the body, but the mind, to decay. The mind that the Lannisters were so proud of would crumble into insanity, no doubt a fate worse than death for Tywin.

And then he would die as well. The mental image of Tywin's corpse caused Ned's lips to turn upward slightly at the corners.

_Unofficially, he is making preparations to have Joffrey declared as the new king. Preparations for a coronation at Casterly Rock are being made. In addition, he has sent envoys to both the Reach and the Vale, seeking aid and support. _

_In regards to the state of the Vale: Lord Hoster Tully has a damaged relationship with Lady Arryn (who has just announced that she is soon to be Lady Baelish). Her betrothed, Petyr Baelish, also (and possibly more commonly) known as Littlefinger is in the employ of whomever will pay him the most. For a long time, that was the Lannister family, but now it is not so cut and dry. As such, I cannot say which path they will decide to go down. Especially with so many Lords of the Vale backing Artys Arryn for Lord Protector, making Lady Arryn's situation more and more precarious with every erratic decision. She has an only slightly better relationship between herself and her sister, the Lady Catelyn Baratheon, which further decreases the chance of her agreeing to send the Knights of the Vale to help the stags. _

_However, in the event that Ser Artys takes over as Lord of the Vale, then it will be likely that they will side with the stag, for the relationship between the Usurper and the Arryns. After all, the Usurper was raised by the late Lord Jon, and grew up a close friend to Lords Elbert and Denys._

_In a related side note that may be of help, one of our Vale informants has informed us that they have finished gathering the necessary evidence to prove that Lysa Arryn committed adultery with Lord Baelish, and that, upon her husband coming across her in the midst of her infidelity, Baelish pushed him out of the Moon Doors. We can release said information to the right people the instant you give the order. With the chaos of the revelation, hints that cause doubt on Lord Robert's paternity, etcetera any ability to send aid to the stags (or whomever they decide to side with) will be difficult, to say the least._

_The stag, meanwhile, is having a fit about Lord Martell's supposed abandonment of him in his so-called time of need. He (with great reluctance) has named Lord Stannis as the Acting Hand of the King, though he continues insisting that Lord Martell will return. Lord Stannis has reached out to the Reach also. Lord Stannis seeks the hand of Lady Margaery in marriage for the Usurper, whilst Lord Tywin desires she wed his grandson. (That the Old Lion believes there to be the slightest chance of such a proposal succeeding proves that the potion is working.)_

_Olenna is playing the game, but her loyalty and that of the Reach remains with King Aegon._

_I will send another update when I can._

_Your faithful servant, _

_Cregard of House Greystark_


	27. Alanna I

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. **

**Omg, I'm alive! Shocker, I know. I was really busy studying for my college entrance exams but they very helpfully decided to cancel them last week (that's half sarcastic, half not. On one hand, who enjoys exams? On the other, I'm home schooled and the department WILL NOT explain what'll happen with the grades for home schoolers with is seriously annoying and freaking me out.) At any rate, back now. **

**But I kinda lost my inspiration for my ASoIaF/GoT stories, and I've gotten into this show, Arrow. However, I'm determined to continue them, so hopefully it won't be disappointing. This update might be a bit ugh, but I hope it's okay and once I've gotten back into writing this fandom the updates will smooth out.**

**Read, enjoy and review, and above all, everyone stay safe and sane during this disaster!**

**(Oh, and a note about this verse. It **_**was**_** the Lannisters who killed Jon Arryn, while Baelish and Lysa killed Elbert.)**

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

**Alanna I**

Alanna scurried through the halls, her skirts swishing around her ankles. She held a pile of freshly cleaned sheets in her arms, providing a convenient (and only-partially false) excuse for why she was lurking about.

"Oh, Petyr," she heard Lady Lysa giggling. "Oh, I love you so."

Quickly, Alanna looked around. Once she was certain that the hall was empty save for herself, she ducked behind a tapestry, slipping into a hidden compartment. Once inside, the Northron spy put down the sheets and opened the spyhole to peer in at the room in which Lady Arryn and Lord Baelish were taking tea. At least, Alanna _hoped_ that was what they were doing. The mad Lady Regent of the Vale had no sense of propriety or privacy. Alanna had seen far more than she had ever wished to see of both halves of the couple. But Lady Lysa was especially talkative when lying with her lover, so Alanna put up with it for the sake of the valuable information she was able to learn.

Anything for the Winterlands, and to gain justice for Magnara Lyanna and her sweet babes, not to mention everybody else mercilessly slaughtered in the Sack.

"Do you love me too?" Lady Lysa pouted like a child at Baelish. He put on a smile, one that sent shivers of disgust down Alanna's spine but that made Lady Arryn beam wider.

"You know I do, my sweet," he replied in a coo.

Alanna resisted the urge to gag in disgust, watching as Lady Arryn's expression suddenly darkened.

"No, I want to hear you say it!" she exclaimed, sounding like a spoilt child denied a favoured toy.

"I love you, Lysa," Littlefinger lied. It was obviously a lie, but a well-spoken one. Had it not been for the fact that Alanna was trained to pick up on such things, and that everybody in the Eyrie knew that Baelish was just using the mad Lady Arryn for power over little Lord Robar, she might've been fooled as well.

"I don't believe you," Lady Lysa sniffed angrily, her emotions having changed like the swing of a pendulum. "If you love me, then why have you not wed me yet?"

"I simply wish to secure your position first," Littlefinger insisted. "I do not want these Lords Declarant to succeed in stealing your son's position because they falsely claim that I am manipulating you to control him."

"Oh, you are so good and kind, Petyr!" the madwoman's feelings changed yet again, and she began to weep loudly, leaning in so as to bury her face in his shoulder and cry into the crook of his neck. It allowed Alanna a direct line of sight to the image of the Mockingbird rolling his eyes and sneering briefly as he wrapped her in an embrace and cooed sweet nothings in her ear.

Eventually, they separated, and Baelish cupped her face.

"Lysa, my love," he began. Alanna straightened. That was how he usually addressed her right before getting her to do something for him. Despite her insanity, Alanna did pity the woman. She had suffered a dozen losses in childbed, and her husband had always been more interested in his mistress and bastards than Lysa and her sick young son (whose paternity many questioned, especially after Lord Elbert's sudden death, followed by the revelation that, as many had suspected, Lady Arryn was involved with Lord Baelish. For all they claimed it had only begun after Lord Elbert's death, not a person in the Eyrie genuinely believed that.) "There is something that you must do for me. It will let us secure Sweetrobin's place as Lord Paramount of the Vale."

"What, Petyr?" the woman asked him, expression and face adoring. "What must I do? I trust you, I know that you will never lead me wrong. You will protect my son's inheritance from those nasty thieves, will you not?"

"I will, my love," he assured her. "Did I not ensure that he would be ruler, that your horrible husband would be removed from his place at your side?"

Alanna felt her eyes widen in amazement. She had suspected, of course. Most had. It was so unlikely, Lord Elbert's death. He had never been a heavy drinker, and he had grown up in the Eyrie. Even the toddlers who grew up in the fortress knew to be careful around the Moon Door. That the Lord of the Vale had gotten so drunk in the hour between him leaving the feast and being seen falling to his death to forget the caution ingrained in him from childhood was suspect, to say the least. More people had wondered if it was his wife and her lover or his cousin who had done the deed than whether or not it was a genuine accident.

"You did," Lysa giggled, as if the memory of killing her husband was a fond one. "You gave me that special powder to weaken him, and then I pushed him out the Moon Door." She fell into a fit of giggles, her insanity so obvious even a blind man would be able to detect it.

"Very true, my darling," Petyr confirmed with a tone full of fake fondness. He reached out and tucked some hair behind her ear. "Now, we must eliminate Artys Arryn. Only then will Robar's position be safe."

"How?" Lysa asked, eyes wide and oddly childlike.

"I will frame him for an attempted coup," Petyr explained. "Then, we will have him put on trial, during which 'evidence' will be discovered that will show he is responsible for hiring a Faceless Man to murder Lord Elbert. He will be executed, and then we can at last wed, my dearest."

Alanna clenched her fists, lip curling in disgust. These southrons had no honour. She would have to send a message warning Sir Artys, as well as alerting the Magnar to what the Lady of the Vale and her despicable lover were plotting. While chaos in the Vale was of help to her Magnar's plans to gain justice for those murdered in the Sack (among which were Alanna's brother and pregnant goodsister. Her elder brother, Cregard, had been a guard who had gone south with the two young Magnars, where he had met a baker's daughter who worshipped the Old Gods of the Forest. Alanna had already been recruited into the Ice Eyes by then, having shown an aptitude for certain skills, such as puzzles, in the discreet tests performed by the schools, but she had still been close to her only living family. Cregard had been ten years her elder, and had raised her after their parents' death in an illness epidemic when she was a mere four namedays.), longterm instability, as would no doubt be caused by Lady Lysa ruling too much longer (or worse, Lord Baelish gaining outright and full control of the eastern kingdom) was undesirable.

She waited a few moments more, but it was soon clear enough that nothing more important would be discussed when the door was flung open and Little Lord Sweetrobin came running in. Not even for Lord Baelish would Lady Arryn risk her precious boy being distressed by 'adult' discussions. Even if she nurtured a disturbing fondness for tossing men out of the Moon Door in the child. The sooner the boy was removed from his mad mother, the better.

Alanna grimaced slightly at the child as she slipped away. She pitied the poor boy, in all honesty. Lord Elbert had been relieved to have a living male heir on the lad's birth, but he was too busy running the Vale on his uncle's behalf to pay much attention to the child when he was too young to be taught to rule or fight (which his health had always been too weak for, anyway.). Mad Lady Lysa had (foolishly) been given sole control over the initial years and 'education' of the boy, like most mothers were, and she had coddled him something fierce.

As a Winterlander, who had grown up in a culture where everyone, male or female, was raised to be either a physical or mental fighter (or, ideally, both), the way the Lady of the Eyrie spoilt and shielded her son disgusted Alanna. The lad was not in the best of health, true, but that was no excuse for anything. What he needed was a good paddling, and to be taught to actually care for himself.

Starting with being weaned from his mad mother.

**ASoVASoVASoV**

She met her counterpart in Ser Artys' retinue (at least, the one she knew of. There could be others. Part of the reason the Ice Eyes were never found was because even they only knew at most two or maybe three others' identities, and usually those 'identities' were in fact aliases, just to be safe) in the usual spot, having sent a message via her bonded warg companion, a small field mouse Alanna had named Gale.

Her counterpart was one of Ser Artys' guardsmen, a trusted one at that. The next-in-line to the Eyrie was oblivious to the fact that the man he called a dear friend was in fact a spy for the Lord of Winterfell, and that was the way it would remain. Like Alanna, Artos Woolfield was devoted to their lieges, and would die before betraying them.

"Alanna, you are as beautiful as ever," Artos smirked, dragging his gaze over her. Of course, he truly had no true interest in her. His tastes laid more towards his manservant, Jonos Borrell from the Sisters. This was merely their excuse to meet and exchange information with one another.

Artos himself claimed to be a distant Royce cousin (which was not _un_true, but he had no right to the name, especially as he was related through a female cousin of the family's head back during the First Blackfyre Rebellion), to disguise his Winterlander heritage, just as Alanna went by Stone.

She giggled coquettishly, batting her long eyelashes and leaning forward to show off the tips of her breasts, upon which his gaze (and many others, Alanna had excellent breasts and she'd been trained in how to make them useful) lingered. "'ello, Artos," she greeted him breathily, putting on the fake low-class Vale accent without even thinking about it anymore. "I wonder if you'd join me upstairs? I 'aven't much time 'fore I must be 'eadin' back. The Lady's in a right state nowadays, e'er since 'er 'usband's death."

"Well then," he replied, downing the remainder of his ale and rising, extending a hand to her. "Best take advantage of the time we have, while we have it, shan't we?"

She giggled again, clutching his arm and letting him guide her up to the room. The minute the door closed, they separated and dropped their masks, serious airs replacing their light-hearted flirtations.

"Well?" Artos demanded. "What is so urgent? We spoke only a few days past."

"I have confirmation," Alanna began. "As we suspected, Lady Lysa is the one who murdered her husband, on Baelish's order. And now they plot to frame Ser Artys for it, and have him executed."

"Thus leaving them free to seize full control of the Vale," Artos completed, grimacing. "The Lords will have no other option but to pledge their full support to Lord Robar and his mother if Artys is dead. Lady Ysilla has shown no sign of pregnancy yet. It has been a mere moon's turn, but all the same. The quicker she is with the child, the better."

"Aye, I have something to help with that, at least," Alanna informed him, reaching into her satchel and pulling out a small vial, filled with green powder, passing it to her friend. "Ensure that this is put into Lady Ysilla's dinner wine for a week straight, preferably the week of the full moon. I spoke with Greenseer Roland, and he assures me that that will be the best time for it. So long as she lays with her husband that week, she is nigh-on guaranteed to get with child, so long as she is not barren, and that he has no difficulties conceiving a child either."

"Well, there is no concerns about them laying with one another, at least," Artos snorted, accepting the vial and stowing it in his cloak pocket. "I'll see she gets it. You're certain it shall work?"

"Yes, yes, I'm certain," Alanna nodded. "'Tis what any Winterlander midwife assigns to couples struggling to conceive. But what shall we do regarding Littlefinger's plans?"

Artos rubbed at his beard, frowning in thought. "I am unsure," he admitted. "But the Magnar has made it clear that Ser Artys is to be the next Lord of the Vale, so obviously we cannot allow him to die."

"Well," Alanna said thoughtfully. "I cannot say that I can think of anybody who would mourn for the deaths of Lady Arryn and Lord Baelish, can you? And if, afterwards while their rooms are being cleared out, letters are found. Ones that prove that they have been lovers since before her marriage to Lord Elbert, their plans to kill him, and that cast doubt on Sweetrobin's paternity..."

She trailed off. They could not kill a child, of course. But he was young enough that, if he were removed from his mother's poisonous influence and given as a ward to somebody who would be able to raise him properly, things would improve for the child. He could eventually become a septon or a maester, mayhaps.

"A good plan," Artos acknowledged, scratching his chin in thought. "She is mad enough that nobody would think they might have been planted, and 'tis not as though any of it is a lie. We know for sure that she had a babe off of Baelish before Lord Tully shoved moontea down her throat, and 'twould be easy to picture her keeping those letters out of arrogance or stupidity. The deaths and revelation would keep the Vale in chaos a bit longer, and Ser Artys would be too busy stabilizing the kingdom to risk going to war on the Usurper's behalf. You can do it without raising any suspicions?"

"Of course," Alanna sniffed. "I'll slip some poison into the dinner. Enough people will be ill to avoid anyone believing it to be more than some bad food, and I can take a few other problems, such as Ser Ben Coldwater out as well."

Ser Ben had a despicable fondness for young maidens, the younger the better, but was well admired due to his handsome demeanour and skill at hiding said fondness. She would happily eliminate him. Best of all, he and his family were all supporters of Artys, not Lysa, so nobody would suspect a plot.

"Then the plan is set," Artos nodded. "When will you do it?"

"Next week," Alanna replied. "I need a few days to gather the ingredients I need, and prepare enough poison. But there is to be a small feast next week due to Lady Lysa's desire to brighten the mood. Apparently we are all distressing her son with our gloomy moods. I shall do it then."

"Well, I am certain that the death of his mother shall cheer the lad's mood considerably," Artos replied with dry sarcasm as he rose and they began adjusting their clothes and hair to make it appear as though they had been together. "I know it would for me, were that mad hag my mother."

"Mine also," Alanna agreed with a grimace.

A part of her pitied the woman. The trauma of her father forcing her to abort her unborn babe far too late in the pregnancy, thus damaging the woman's womb and leading to a succession of miscarriages that destroyed her mind, was a pain that Alanna would wish on no one. (Well, maybe on Cersei Lannister. There was little grief that the Winterlanders _didn't _wish Cersei would suffer through.)

But she was a Tully, one of those who had betrayed the Targaryens for no reason other than their own selfishness, and cruel beyond belief. She had broken her wedding vows. Made to the Seven or the True Gods, it made no difference. Breaking a vow made before the gods warranted punishment, and so it would be.

More importantly than anything else, it would strengthen the North's cause, and that was what Alanna lived for.

The good of the North, and all within it.


End file.
